#how am i supposed to travel six hours

[therefugeofbooks]

Twice is coming to Brazil on a fucking Tuesday

[incognit0slut]

Buried in the pillow

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A night of restless sleep ends better than expected. Based on;

warning: 18+ explicit content including edging, a little chocking, sexual intercourse, and dom spence

words: 4,6k (I got carried away😭)

a/n: am I supposed to be writing something else? Yes. Will it stop me from writing a slow, lazy sex scene? NO

MASTERLIST

“…you’re buried in the pillow, yeah you’re so loud…”

THERE WAS NO DENYING THE WARM FLOOD OF AROUSAL RUSHING IN HER SYSTEM. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath, her heart rate climbing in her chest she could feel her pulse throbbing through her entire body. She readjusted herself along her pillow and closed her eyes before exhaling, her thighs pressed together as she tried not to let her mind travel into any lewd thoughts.

But the sound of his shallow breathing was enough to make her terribly aware of the abrupt shift in her body. She could feel the dull, needy throb between her legs merging with that burn of sheer want for him low in her stomach. Her eyes fluttered open then, and there he was, sleeping on his side of the bed with his face facing toward her.

Spencer looked so peaceful. His eyes were closed, lashes brushing along his cheeks, and his mouth slightly parted while his chest rose in a steady rhythm, a sign of him in complete slumber. She had seen the drowsiness in his eyes the moment he walked through the door this evening, the fatigue clumped in his shoulders as he kissed her in greeting. It had been days since the last time he had proper sleep, having to travel across the country for a recent case, and today he finally had the chance to rest his bones from all of the work.

But it also meant it had been eleven days, fifteen hours, and forty-six minutes since the last time she had him buried deep inside her...

Not that she was counting.

Fine—maybe she was. Maybe she was keeping up with their time apart because being with him was something she looked forward to, in and out of the bedroom. How could she not? He was her partner; her smart, caring boyfriend who she loved too damn much and would do anything to bide the time relishing in his presence.

Although tonight she did have a specific activity in mind, which now seemed more like wishful thinking considering he was already deep in slumber. He needed the sleep, she reminded herself. He was simply tired and he needed all the rest he could get.

Swallowing hard, Y/n tried to push her desire back down. She turned over, laid back down on her back, and let her eyelids fall back down as she settled her arms to her side. But the position was too uncomfortable. She let out a groan and shifted again, hips moving along the bed a few times before she finally stopped.

The feel of something shifting woke Spencer up, his mind slowly stirring awake. A soft sigh escaped him as he lay silently, his mind quieted in the stillness of the night. Then his breathing evened out a moment later, exhaustion of the past few days took over before his eyelids lowered, body drifting back to sleep. Except for a little bit later, he heard more rustling along the pillow, a soft, feminine sound of frustration barely ringing in his ears. This time he slowly opened his eyes, adjusting himself in the dark.

The first thing he noticed was a mass of hair laid in front of him, then bare arms and a slender body clad in a silky nightgown. There was silence as he tried to pick up her breathing, watching her back move steadily in the poorly lit room. When another exasperated sigh escaped her, Spencer inched closer and reached out, an arm wrapping around her waist as he pulled her closer toward him.

"Hey," he softly murmured, concerned about her constant movements in her sleep. "You alright?"

Y/n stopped herself from letting out a moan. On normal occasions, being pressed up against him in bed would lull her to sleep, the comfort of his arms provided an immense amount of warmth and safety. Definitely not tonight. The way his arm tightened around her, tugging her back into his solid chest awoken that part of her she tried to suppress. The heat of his body enveloped her and she found herself leaning back, accepting the warmth he was offering.

"Hmm," her returning hum answered, sinking deeper into his embrace.

"Bad dream?"

She stopped herself from snorting. She couldn't even get a wink of sleep and here he was, concerned about the possibility of her having nightmares. But it was a better reason than to admit why she couldn't rest her eyes, so she nodded, her voice slightly breathless as she whispered, "Something like that."

The silence in the air after her reply was jarring. If Spencer was half-awake before, he was fully awake now, the rasp in her voice far too familiar for him to ignore. And when he finally regained his consciousness back, he became highly aware of his surroundings. The soft mattress underneath him, the plush pillow below his head, and the soft curves pressed against him.

He could feel her body trembling underneath his palm, her breathing picking up its pace as his fingers glided along her stomach. He could practically hear the sound of her heartbeat as he pulled her even closer, his head shifting along her shoulder, his nose brushing against the back of her neck. The subtle fragrance of flowers and honey filled his nostrils as he breathed in her scent, nuzzling further into her, the stubble of his jaw grazing along her skin.

"Spence," she muttered, tilting her head into the pillow. "What are you doing?"

"You seem to be having trouble sleeping." She felt the bed shift behind her as he moved again, and then a moment later she felt him pressing his hips into her ass. She let out a gasp. "I'm helping you relax."

She felt something pleasantly warm grazing her neck, his lips moving deliberately slow, as if he was in no hurry and only wanted to savor the taste of her skin. His hand then slid further up her stomach, palm flat as it dragged up her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. It eventually stopped its roam, halting its search when he cupped her left breast tenderly.

She couldn't stop the strained moan from slipping out of her mouth. "Sleep isn't exactly on my mind right now."

"I figured," he murmured beside her ear, his hot breath drawing goosebumps along her skin. "How long have you been awake?"

His hand gently kneaded her breast as his mouth traveled along her neck. Her eyelids lowered slightly, a wet heat forming between her thighs as her arousal intensified. "I haven't slept."

"And why is that?" A finger brushed across her nipple through her thin nightgown. She suppressed a helpless whimper as his thumb circled around the nub, caressing it so gently she could feel her body shaking with need. "Go on." He tugged on her nipple between his fingers. "Use your words."

"I..." She felt his tongue softly grazing her skin before he wrapped his mouth around her flesh, sucking on the spot. What was she to say? That she was too aroused to relax? She carefully weighed her words, feeling bashful verbalizing her thoughts, so she finally settled with, "It was too hot."

He hummed in response, somehow acknowledging the meaning behind her words. She watched as his hand left her breast, sliding up her bare arm before it settled on the strap of her flimsy sleepwear. He gently tugged down the thin string as his mouth lowered towards her shoulder, languorously trailing kisses down the line of it. "We should do something about that, shouldn't we?"

She couldn't think clearly when his touch sent her into a whirlwind of chaos. To crave something was one thing, to actually acquire that craving was an entirely different thing. She had wanted to feel him so much, but as his hand trailed back to her now-exposed breast, her mind was in a mess of desperate longing and need. Somehow his mouth trailing on her neck wasn't enough. Somehow his callused fingers stroking her nipple wasn't enough. She needed to feel every inch of his body on her. She wanted all of him.

More, more, more.

"Spence," she breathed out, her hoarse voice hanging in the air.

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. "Tell me." His grip on her nipple tightened, and she shuddered at the sensation. "Tell me what you want."

"You," she answered in a daze. "I want you."

"What do you want me to do?" He gently bit her flesh. "Do you want me to make you feel good? Do you want me to touch you, relax the tension in your body?" Then her heart sped up in her chest, slamming roughly into her rib cage at his next words.

"Do you want me to fuck you to sleep?"

A strangled whimper left her mouth. Spencer was a lot of things in bed. When they had first been together, he was so timid and unsure of himself, too caught up in his thoughts that left him too afraid to touch her—which she honestly hadn't minded, she loved being the one who saw his transformation in the bedroom. But when he finally started to loosen up and be himself with her, exploring things he wanted to try, to finally take control? It drove her absolutely wild to experience him gain his confidence it made her weak in the knees every damn time.

Like this side of him now always managed to render her speechless. Perhaps it was the way he was so poised and calm outside the bedroom, a very different demeanor when he was alone with her, that made it all seem so overwhelming. In the safety of their bedroom, he was everything he desired, and being crude and demanding was what he decided to be this night.

His hand caressing her nipple slid up her chest, his fingers gently wrapping around the base of her neck. Her breath hitched as he softly gripped it, pulling her even further into his chest. "Tell me, is that what you want?"

She was breathing even heavier now, her shoulders heaving with each audible inhale. "Yes."

He bit her earlobe, evoking another breathless shudder out of her. "Explain it in words, I need you to speak to me."

Y/n enjoyed the sweet, gentle way he made love to her. She really did. Very, very much so. But there was a certain enjoyment whenever he was in control. Whenever he let himself go and have his way with her—crass words over sweet nothings, rough stokes over soft touches. It burned her skin and gripped onto her arousal, waking up the submissive side of her which she enjoyed more than she should probably have.

Spencer's grip tightened at her silence. "Are you not going to answer me?"

"Yes," she quickly responded, feeling the subtle bulge of him pressed along her backside. "Please."

"Please... what?"

She couldn't believe he was making her say it. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and leaned into his touch, practically shifting the weight of her body on top of him. "Spence."

"I need to hear the words or you won't get anything at all," he spoke, his thumb grazing her chin.

The thought of being left sexually frustrated was enough for her to nod, giving in to his command. "Yes," she whispered, and because she wanted to make him feel as desperate as she was, she squirmed, hips writhing along his groin as she searched for friction. "I want you to fuck me to sleep."

A pleased rumble vibrated in his throat. Letting go of her neck, his hand trailed down her body and landed on the top of her thigh, gently massaging the muscle beneath his palm. His fingers skimmed up toward her skin, pushing up her nightgown, exposing more delicate skin and skimpy underwear barely covering her ass. Then it happened so fast. One moment he was caressing her, the next thing she knew his hand drew back before it came barreling forward with a sharp smack that echoed in the room. She gasped in pleasant surprise, her clit throbbing in excitement as his palm rubbed along the stinging flesh.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

She whimpered in response. Then his hand retreated from her ass only to come flying forward again with another sharp crack. Her hips jolted forward at the impact, her eyes closing at the delicious sting as his hand held onto her her stomach. His fingers then slowly trailed south and her breath hitched in her throat as she felt his lips hot on her ear.

"Open your legs, sweetheart."

Her knees fell apart at the demand, one of her legs laying on top of his. She waited for him to touch her, to dip his hand into her aching folds in the confinement of her underwear. Instead, his fingers slipped into the side of her fabric, tugging the material to the side, exposing wet, damp skin to his desire. The slick evidence of her arousal stuck onto the fabric so thickly it was enough for her to feel the heat creeping along her cheeks.

"Would you look at that?" He whispered, lips touching the back of her ear. "I haven't even touched you here and you're already soaking wet."

Her heart was pounding hard in her chest as she watched him. There wasn't a moment of hesitation while his fingers tugged the waistband of her underwear, gingerly sliding them down her legs before pulling them past her feet and casting them somewhere over the side of the bed. Then he grabbed onto her knee, parting her legs further apart but not doing anything to quench her desire. He could feel her trembling, writhing with need as she pressed further into his front.

The cool air hit her exposed skin, and it took a lot of self-control for her not to beg even further, but the way her body squirmed was enough to let him know what she craved. Though his hand stayed where it was, firmly gripping onto her left leg, sliding it on top of his while his lips lazily mapped along her neck.

"Here's what we're going to do," his gruff voice filled her ears. "I'm going to touch you, I'm going to please you in every way you like—" His hand slid painfully slow down her thigh before it came to a complete stop. "—but you can only cum when I give you permission to." His fingers inched closer to her throbbing heat. "Do I make myself clear?"

A shiver spread along her body, understanding what he meant by those words. He wanted to rule her, he wanted to be the one in charge of her own body. And while she should've felt appalled at the thought, her arousal rather grew deeper at every ticking second as he waited for her reply.

And then suddenly his fingers wrapped around her neck again, gently pressing onto her skin as he jutted his hips towards her. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes," she begged him, her hand lightly tugging around his arm. "Perfectly clear."

Then his hand trailed down again, slightly brushing her aroused nipples before it settled on the heated span between her legs. When the pads of his fingers lightly grazed her clit, his teeth bit down on her shoulder. A hiss of pleasure instantly flew out of her mouth. Two of his fingers began running back and forth between her damp folds, the sensation was gradually pulling shallower and shallower breaths from her.

"You're so wet," he growled against her skin. "This what you've been needing?"

She faintly nodded, her hips moving gradually with his fingers. His fingers circled in swift motion and it was enough for her to roll her head back onto his shoulder. His fingers then slid back into her slicked entrance before he abruptly slipped two of them into her. Eyes snapping shut, she groaned in pleasure. He began thrusting slowly into her over and over, curling them deep inside. A whimper escaped her mouth at the feel of them as he began to pump into her roughly, her hips pressing eagerly back into his hand.

"I can already feel you clenching around my fingers," he whispered. "You really needed this, didn't you?"

"So much," she found herself answering, a hand grasping onto his arm as he kept thrusting his fingers at a steady pace. "I needed you."

"Then you have me. You'll always have me."

A breathy moan flew out of her at his words, her back arched in response. She felt his lips pulling into a smile along her skin, thrusting his fingers all the way in. She moaned loudly, her head dropping down between his shoulders as he pulled his fingers out before quickly pushing them right back inside.

"Spence," she breathlessly sighed, his fingers still vigorously thrusting into her, only pausing to occasionally curl inside of her which in turn had her toes curling on the bed, her body feeling closer to the edge of her release. "I-I'm gonna—"

"No. You're not."

She let out a loud groan, griping his arm as he thrust deeper, his fingers spreading wider into her as another finger entered her heat. His warm breath was brushing over her skin, the sensation mingled with his finger still thrusting into her deliciously pleasant. "Baby, I-I can't—"

"You can," he whispered, his breathing sounding harsher than before. "You're going to wait until I give you my permission."

A harsh moan ripped in her throat, her body spasming as she tried to force herself to control her body. but it was getting harder to do when her vision felt like it was blurring, her breath coming in sharp pants as his fingers continued to drive into her, the sensation had her legs shaking. She could hear how wet she was, the slick sound of him pumping into her echoed in the room.

"You're really enjoying this," he ground out as his pace picked up. "You're already so close."

She nodded against the pillow, whimpering out an affirmative noise that wasn't quite a word.

"Then I can't let that happen."

Instead of getting what she wanted, he abruptly pulled his fingers out from inside of her before she whined in protest. The loss of his touch on her body was too much to handle as she gripped his arm again, guiding him back between his legs. Spencer couldn't help the amusement dripping in his voice as he watched her move his fingers with her own. "What are you doing?"

"Spence, I was so close—"

"That's not how this works."

Then he retrieved his hand again before shifting behind her, and when she caught him pulling down his sweatpants, she couldn't help but arch her body towards him. She swallowed hard, goosebumps raising along her skin as she watched him pull out his cock, his hand gripping onto the length of it as he settled between her legs.

A moment later she felt the head of his cock rubbing through her damp folds, a shudder running down her spine at the sensation, a soft hum vibrating through her lips. She felt him line himself up with her entrance, her breath feeling like it was catching in her throat as she impatiently waited for him.

And then, finally, after many days of being apart, the tip of him slid inside of her so slowly. A gasp fell out of her mouth. Spencer rumbled out a very gruff, contented noise as he gradually sunk even deeper inside of her, pausing to let herself adjust to him.

"You feel so warm," he groaned out. "So perfectly warm."

She moaned in response, breath coming in hard. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

She could feel her walls fluttering around him, trying to adjust to his girth. Then his hips slowly began rocking into her, pleasure washing over her body in waves at the sensation. His mouth lowered beside her ear, each of his panting breaths falling straight into it. "Nice—" He moved his hips back before pushing them forward leisurely, enjoying the way she clenched around him. "—and slow."

The roll of his hips pulled her into a trance as her body responded; muscles straining, eyes widening, lips parting. Sparks of electricity began to ricochet along every nerve. The coil inside her was building up, her chest was rising and falling faster, more and more, dragging desperate breaths into her lungs with every thrust of his hips.

Then her eyes shifted downwards, watching the way he entered her deliciously body. It was a strange sight, to watch her body react to something so wonderful. Her muscles tensed, goosebumps sprang up along her skin, and it was all there for her viewing pleasure. She watched as he shoved himself into her, over and over again, her walls trembling at how intoxicating he was making her feel.

"Baby, I—" she whimpered, trembling in her wake. "I can't hold much longer."

"You can," he assured her, his fingers digging into her skin.

Weak and desperate, she surrendered in the wake of the urge elicited by his abrasive touch. His hands were all over her, large and expansive, confident in the way he touched, squeezed, and fondled every part of her body. Eager flames bloomed in the pit of her gut. "I—I can't."

He relished the way she clenched around him, her breathing coming out shallow as he took what he wanted. Then he gripped her hips, building up his pace as he thrust deeper into her. "You're so close, I can feel it," he pointed out. "Do you want to cum?"

She tried to focus her mind on something other than the feeling of him inside her. "Yes."

"Hmm," he hummed out, his pace briefly slowing. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he demanded, "Beg me or I'll stop."

A whimper left her. "Spence."

His lips found her neck when he felt her walls squeezing him even tighter, "Do you want to cum?" he repeated against her skin.

"Mhmm."

"Use your words," he groaned as he increased the pace of his movements. "Say it."

Swallowing hard, her head rolled against his shoulder. Her lips were quivering as he kept up his pace, her body inching closer and closer to her release. She was fighting to hold it back, her body slowly beginning to shake along the mattress.

"Beg." Thrust. "Me." Thrust.

She was so close. Her eyes were half-lidded her voice rang in the air, breathless and desperate for his mercy from the overwhelming pleasure. "Please," she finally breathed out, almost letting out a cry, her lips parted in delight. "Baby—I-I... please let me cum."

"What was that?"

"Spencer," she whimpered desperately. "Please. Please. Let me—fuck.. baby, please."

This time she did let out a cry.

He snarled behind her before his teeth snapped at her earlobe, tugging at the delicate skin. Her body was quaking on the bed as she whined, struggling to hold back any longer. And when she felt like she was about to lose control, he finally released her earlobe and spoke, "Go on, then. Cum for me."

A loud moan flew up out of her throat, her body pressing back into his. She felt the hard clench of her walls around his length as pleasure spread through her entire body. As the coil in her stomach grew, she couldn't help but snake a hand down to where they were connected and quickly found her throbbing sex. Catching her desperate fingers, he swatted her hand away, replacing it with his own as his fingers circled around her clit.

His rough fingers taunting their joint bodies tipped her over that tantalizing edge. She felt each pulse of her walls so acutely, felt the heat flow throughout her spine as the high she reached never came to an end. He buried his face into her neck, kissing and biting the smooth skin. A certain movement from his fingers made her whole body shake. She couldn't handle it, couldn't see through the tears falling, couldn't feel anything but him and the hot pleasure.

She finally came with a scream, wrenched from her throat so roughly it seared its way out of her lungs and into the air. She felt herself clench around him, hard, and his hips shuddered violently against her. Her ears tingled at the rhythm of his grunts as he exhaled her name, his thrusts growing erratic. Then she felt him completely, she could feel his warmth seeping into her heat as he let out the most primal groan she had ever heard.

Silence engulfed them afterward, their heart slowing down from their erratic breathing. It wasn't until he slipped out of her that she let out a tired moan, her voice echoing in the dark. He gently grabbed her body and turned her around, cradling her cheek before leaning in for a kiss.

Then slowly, but steadily, all he tasted was her. It felt like a missing puzzle falling back to its place as his warm lips connected with hers. He was so enraptured by her touch, by the taste of her, that it took a lot for him to pull away. Breathing heavily, he finally rested his head back onto his pillow, a coy smile stretched on his lips as his thumb stroked along her cheek.

"Hi."

A sincere smile flourished on her face. "Hi."

"Well, that was... something."

She laughed as she leaned closer, wrapping her arm around his waist. "It was fun."

"It really was," he agreed, suddenly feeling shy as he realized what had just occurred. "I always surprise myself when I'm with you."

"Good," she simply said. He wrapped his arms around her as she settled in his embrace. They lay in comfortable silence, her head on his chest, legs draped over him as his fingers drew lazy patterns on her thigh. Then after a moment of relishing each other's presence, his deep voice cut through the silence.

"You know," he started, his voice very soft. "You could've just woken me up if you have trouble sleeping."

She slightly leaned back to look up at him. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to disturb you."

"Nothing about you will ever be disturbing to me."

She wrinkled her nose. "Even if you got home from a long, exhausting trip, you wouldn't mind if I woke you up for sex?"

"I'd especially want to be woken up for that reason," he replied in disbelief. His fingers trailed under her chin, angling her gaze on him. "Wouldn't you?"

She smiled at the thought. There was a delightful feeling as her mind wandered on the possibility of him interrupting her sleep because he craved her touch. "Alright," she agreed. "Duly noted."

His arms tightened around her. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

She hummed out a positive response, her face burrowing along his skin, just beneath his chin. Her body suddenly felt the heavy post-sexual bliss, and now surrounded by his warmth, she could feel the fatigue creeping into her body.

"I was hoping so," he murmured.

Tugging the sheets up higher over their body, she felt him shifting along the bed for a minute, his arms encircling her waist. His chin was carefully tucked onto the top of her head as he drew her in tight under the covers. And when the steady rhythm of his breathing embraced her, her body finally relaxed, falling into sleep.

[sgiandubh]

When Cait married Tony she said they would honeymoon in Italy when it, meaning OL, was over. Good way to get it paid for by OL related appearance next March. Too bad she has to put up with Sam for a couple of hours. Sam, who said many times how he hated S2 costumes and was teased much by Meril, because he didn't like the feminine look. Too much like his true nature. He will certainly bring one of his prostitutes over past 3 years, Ashley being the latest, if her unnecessary week in UK last week for for anything else. 4 trips to Scotland for her in a year. It's clear which business she's really in.

Dear Business She Is Really In Anon,

I think you should be ashamed of yourself, for writing plain libel with no other arguments than your own twisted, bitter and irrelevant world view. If you consider that Ashley Hearn is a prostitute, just because she traveled four times to Scotland since late May 2024, then you are nothing more than a sad, sad troll, who thinks thousands of other women who happen to work in the marketing and sales sectors, all over the world, are also whores, right? You know very well all her trips have been more than thoroughly documented and you also know they did have a tangible impact, as far as that company is concerned. You should also get your fucking timeline straight before you treat us to your word vomit, because even the hatred you gratuitously spread around must have, technically speaking, at least some modicum of plausibility. She did not start to work for SS one year ago, punk: she started to work for them on May 21st 2024, which is exactly six months.

When C married McGill there is no way for you to tell what she said. You weren't there, you are a damn Social Zero and you just rely on word-of-mouth and ridiculously contradictory press releases and interviews. A honeymoon takes a week-end perhaps only in your shanty town and making the ball's organizers 'pay for it' is beyond ridiculous, including as far as C herself might be concerned (what is she, a cheap profiteer?) - supposing that 'relationship' would be anything more than a mutually convenient arrangement of sorts, of course. Sorry, but not the case.

Yeah, too bad she had to put up with S, against all odds, for eleven years, now. This is what really wrecks your pea brain, right? That, and being proven wrong and embarrassingly dumb, over and over again.

For your next endeavor, I suggest you'd turn your attention to your homeland telenovelas (you misspelled Maril Davis' name like a Brazilian and that is a dead giveaway).

Talvez Escrava Isaura seja uma substituição decente e mais acessível? Há reviravoltas baratas (gaslighting, veneno, delírio) o suficiente para mantê-la ocupada por um bom tempo.

You may wonder why I still answer your tragically ridiculous comments? Well, because it is time for someone to shame you and also show the true, dull and derisory colors of your stupid monomania.

[Later edit]: in no way did I want to imply anything negative about Brazil or its culture. I could have definitely better used one of the bajillion other Globo productions, dealing with Carioca intrigue and/or football wives. If I haven't, it is just because Escrava Isaura was a huge international success even in the Nineties, and remembered as such by many. While I am sensitive to the social and political inacceptable problem of slavery, I maintain that the 1976 adaptation of Guimarães's novel is simplistic and formulaic enough, hence more appropriate for Anon. I am sorry if my poor joke was construed differently and I apologize to all the people who might be offended. If you know me, you'd also know I am probably the last person to disrespect your country and culture.

[unveiling-unguarding]

Let's fix the story of Dragon Age: The Veilguard pt. 1 - Prologue

I have spent the last week-ish just stewing and thinking about all the things that bugged me about Veilguard's story. Things I knew would bug me going in, having seen the gameplay reveal of the intro mission, but thought would fade as the game got over the hump of an awkward start. Nope.

This game, unfortunately, has such massive structural problems that I need to try to rework the basic skeleton of the narrative for my own sanity. So while my first instinct would quite frankly be to scrap the whole premise of what we got, I'll stick to doing some amateur developmental editing.

First things first, Bioware seems to not understand why people have wanted origins back in Dragon Age and are content to give lip service to various backstories without implementing the real reason people loved them - they mattered narratively, were intrinsic to the plot and various subplots, and provided solid character motivation at the very beginning of the story. For example, the human noble origin starts your warden's story off with the betrayal and murder of your parents at the hands of supposed close friend Arl Howe. So now you have very personal motivations to leave your home, become a Grey Warden, and be an active participant in the political landscape of Ferelden. Same goes for each of the origins you can play, each of which introduces the player to subcultures and subplots important to the setting.

Like Veilguard, Inquisition didn't do well with this, but it was fine since the real narrative hook for why the player's character becomes the protagonist is them gaining the anchor and stepping out of the fade in the wake of a world-altering calamity under uncertain circumstances. And most importantly, the game allows you to roleplay how your character feels about the whole thing. Rook, on the other hand (heh), is a character who only gets a short paragraph, functionally identical no matter the faction, about pissing off their higher ups before being recruited by Varric. Supposedly, Rook travels with Varric and Harding for the better part of a year before the game takes place, a timeframe we only learn a couple hours into the game.

This is all coupled with some painterly cutscenes where Varric gives us the lowdown on Solas and his plans. Which is fine, but does the bare minimum and gives our player character no personal stake in the story. We are left to infer our pre existing relationship with Varric (and Harding) and our Rook's reasons for stopping Solas. You can kind of define those reasons later on, but they are rather shallow and the game does not give them their due emphasis. Not to mention this comes at a point in the story I'd argue is way too late.

What should have happened to start the game was a mission that allows us to both define Rook's relationship with Varric and their stake in the story. You could conceivably come up with any number of specifics for this prologue mission, so I'll forgo getting too into the weeds, except to say that it should in some capacity involve Solas' agents that were seen and hinted at during Trespasser. Since the game insists on allowing Rook to be from one of six factions (a seeming holdover from the pivot away from a live service model for the game), the game should start off with a mission about narrowing Solas' ritual location down. Allow us to banter with Varric about the months leading up to that moment. Allow us to elucidate our feelings on what Solas plans and our taking leave from our faction. This would provide a great opportunity for have race or faction reactivity upon learning he was last seen in Minrathous, whether you're an elf or qunari hesitant to go to place that is generally hostile toward people like you or a shadow dragon eager to return home.

This would be a perfect lead in to contacting Neve Gallus for help and the existing opening mission, if you absolutely have to keep it in the game. I am still annoyed about John Epler stating that they wanted the beginning of this game to feel like the ending of a previous game. Why? That's the opposite of how a story should start. A story should start at the beginning, especially when one of their stated goals was to onboard new players to Dragon Age. It hamstrung them into leaving our main character's connection to Varric and the plot nebulous and undefined while they felt the need to shove in extremely awkward and on the nose exposition to tell the player about the veil, Solas, and ancient Elvhenan. Let the beginning of your story breathe, goddamn it.

Next up we'll talk about how the story handles Varric and why it's such a stupid fucking plot twist.

[lilystyles]

when not in rome.

a @lilystyles blurb!

my masterlist & no strings attached masterlist & blurbs masterlist

authors note idk this was a random thing i wrote at 2AM because i just missed them, i am still working on style so don't worry that should be out soon. also this is set way before no strings, i love writing about them in their previous moments!

brief description harry surprises y/n at her graduation (also listen to love of my life by h whilst readinggg)

warnings! angsty? fluffy? drunk y/n and harry (2.1k)

younger!lhh!nostrings!h x reader

* * * * *

SIX YEARS BEFORE

University has a funny way of making you feel like you might never cross the finish line. Y/n like everyone else had multiple days where she would just sob and scream from the stress of it all. Exams were totally a torture device.

When Y/n graduated with her first degree before deciding to write her thesis Harry surprised her.

He’d been touring the world with One Direction for months now and she hadn’t seen him since Paris the year before, when he’d surprised her by flying her to join them in their Paris show and they’d had a wild few drunken nights that she felt blurred the lines of friendship into something more.

But after their few days, when the champagne ran out, and she came back home, she sobered and realised that nothing would ever happen between them. And if you spent a few nights with Harry in a limo drinking champagne and dealing with his wandering hands you too would fall for him. Just a bit. It's only natural.

She missed him, though, loads. He was one of her best friends after all.

Around a month ago they phoned each other, it was late for her and the morning for him, she’d been studying and they talked for hours catching up till the sky turned bright for her and her eyes drooped shut. The time between their phone calls had grown longer and longer now, and she missed him. She’d mentioned that she was graduating soon and that they were both supposed to be graduating if he’d stayed in Uni. She remembers them staying up late at parties discussing their futures and how post-graduation Harry was insistent that they’d still be roommates. She realised now that their dream definitely wasn’t a possibility anymore.

He’d told her that instead of being there graduating like they’d suspected he was going to be, he was in Rome at some fashion show gala thing, and his date was this sexy model named Rosalie who had her sex tape leaked a couple of months ago. She was happy for him, but a part of her couldn’t help but be disappointed. She felt like he was drifting away from her every day, but she couldn’t find in herself to be cross with him. He was swept up by the fame of it all, and how on earth could she be mad that he was literally a rockstar? She knew that he was still Harry and she was still Y/n but they weren’t Harry and Y/n anymore. Not like before.

And honestly, she’d probably leave everything and everyone behind, party all night, and sleep with sexy models too if she had the chance to be famous. But she couldn’t sing for shit. So instead she did what she was doing, and shoved her nose in a book rather than in lines off a bathroom sink, and she was rather content with the peacefulness of it all.

All thoughts of Harry were swept away from her mind when she walked across the stage in the grande hall. She was finally graduating! Thank god! She thought. She had a sash that showed she was an honours student, and she was blooming with pride, when they called her name her list of achievements was longer than the four painful years she’d spent studying in their grande libraries. She was so glad to shake the hand of one of her favourite professors and leave, the next year ahead she planned to travel and work overseas, she was excited about that.

But honestly, she was even more excited to get absolutely shit-faced at the graduation after-ball party. She found herself a few pints down, sitting by the edge of one of the fountains, when she nearly fell in at the absolutely shocking sight in front of her.

There was just no way it could be true. I mean he was in Rome, and she was drunk in London. She’d seen photos on her Twitter of him wrapping his tattooed arms around that Rosalie model girl, so how could he be here in London just like that? It was not real, surely. She must be hallucinating and the second-hand smoke of all the spliffs had finally got to her brain. But suddenly the man turned around and Jesus Christ it was him. It was Harry. His eyes were pinched as he searched the crowd and when he finally saw her they lit up, all green like a forest, and his mouth kicked up into that devilish grin of his.

He saw her dumb-struck expression and laughed softly walking toward his best friend. He was dressed in a suit jacket like everyone else, and since they were all drunk none of them noticed it was the Harry Styles of the One Direction AKA the biggest band in the world. To them, he was just some random twat who just graduated too.

His hair had grown all long and curly, and he just looked so much more like a man than when he’d left. Had he gotten taller? More strong? The arms of his jacket strained and Y/n sighed at the sight of him.

She didn't think she'd changed much, but Harry thought she looked even more beautiful than before, if possible.

When he stood right in front of her, her mouth was still wide in utter shock. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He laughed. “Is that all you hafta’ say? Come on, hug your best friend!”

She sprang up from her seat and the silky long dress, which was a teal blue colour. All smooth and tight on her skin was hiked up slightly. Her gown and cap were long gone, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders. He lifted her up off the floor and spun them around. 

She smelt like peaches and sweetness, and God, he could've stayed holding her for weeks.

She giggled and felt her face hurt from smiling so big. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you!”

When he placed her down, his hands did not leave the curve of her waist. “Surprise, babe.”

“What the- shit- I thought you were in Rome! How’d you even get here?” She asked 

He smiled. “I was, got a flight this afternoon. It was the only one coming home, sorry for missing the graduation part.”

She just smiled up at him. “You’re crazy.”

He shook his head landing a hand on her shoulder. “I knew how important it was to you, and I missed you. Sue me.”

She laughed, eyes welling with slight tears. Maybe he wasn’t drifting too far from her after all. “Oh, god, don’t make me cry, you know how I get after a few pints, H.”

He laughed, arms outstretched for her to cuddle him. “Aw, pet, c’mere.”

She smacked his chest playfully but cuddled him nonetheless. “Let’s go get royally fucked, mate,” She whispered and they pulled apart, hands interlocking as she lead him off to one of the pubs where everyone was buying drinks.

It was called The Ducks Nuts.

A few of her mates were inside. Ones Harry didn’t know, but she’d already spent a good portion of the night with them. So she told them her old friend had surprised her and they’d be here and there.

Harry ordered them some shots and eventually the night was just a blur of hands touching each other, as they got so drunk Y/n felt her world spinning. They’d hopped around multiple different pubs and bars and Y/n was so tired. Her heels itched her feet with pain and she ripped them off, along with her bag. As they walked with little purpose she threw her things at him and began to dance in the middle of the road.

Harry was holding her things as she danced in the street showing her best Elton John impression, and he silently decided that was what made her so perfect. She was just herself. And he loved that about her, he loved everything about her.

He laughed and told her what a realistic impression it was, and how they’d met at some award show to back up that comment. She was infinitely jealous, she loved Elton.

On her way back toward him she landed in his arms after losing her footing he shook his head at her.

“You are very drunk, Lovie. Aren't ya'?" He said, in a soft tone one that made her tummy turn in flips.

She sighed as they walked in a direction with no destination in mind. “You aren’t drunk enough, you need to get on my level.”

He noticed her shiver under his arm and quickly ripped his coat off. It swallowed her form and she smiled gratefully hugging the coat around herself. It felt like a warm embrace, and that smell filled her nose and suddenly she was home in her old flat with him, home in Holmes Chapel, home with him. Just home.

“Smells good.” She giggled as she sniffed the shoulder pad, her cheek brushing against the soft material all dog-like. “N’ soft too.”

“Why thanks, it’s Gucci.” He replied. 

She rolled her eyes. “Come on then, money-bags, let’s get you as drunk as me.”

They strolled into a tavern near her flat and drank so much tequila that they had to practically carry each other home.

As Harry looked up at the stars and moon, feeling the cool air nip her skin he sighed. He hadn’t gotten this drunk, and been this happy in such a long time. He was giggling contently, as she leaned into him and he silently wished that the night would never end.

He never wanted his time with her to end either. He loved spending time with her, whether they were on an adventure or doing nothing at all. Y/n made it worthwhile.

When they reached the shitbox of a flat she lived in Harry followed calmly behind her, and when one of her neighbours spat a comment about drunken youths he sighed, “I wish you would’ve taken up my offer,”

She looked up at him as she played with the jammy door that never seemed to open on the first try. Shoving her shoulder into it as she managed to finally wedge it open, stumbling inside ungracefully.

And with a roll of her eyes, she ushered him inside. “There is zero chance I’d let my all-of-sudden bazillionaire rockstar friend buy me a flat, just cause he can afford shoes worth more than my entire life savings. Anyway, how could I ever pay it back? I have two p to my name and a packet of noodles in my possessions, Harry.”

He laughed. “Think of it as a graduation present then,”

She sighed. “Just shut up and sit down, and I’ll get some wine.”

It was almost 4AM now, and neither cared. They were beyond drunk, but Y/n missed him and if force-feeding him wine would get him to spend a whole 24 hours with her, she totally would.

When she sat down with two mugs spilling with a cherry red wine, that was the cheapest shit she’d ever bought, Harry laughed. Her wobbly legs forced her to land awkwardly on one thigh practically on top of his. He smiled, one that showed his kind eyes. 

Green pools of emerald she wished to swim in for eternity. She laughed at the thought, she really got poetic when she was drunk, huh?

“God, remind me to get you drunk more often.” He whispered.

She sighed. “Oh shut up, and fill me in on life then. Who are you shagging?”

He looked at her pointedly. “Who are you shagging?”

A blush crept up her neck, and suddenly the only secret she had kept from him was threatening to slip past her drunken red-stained lips.

“None of your business, but there’s this hot guy in my physics who I would totally shag,”

He laughed, but underneath it, he felt a jealousy creep up his spine, he knew he had no right since he’d been balls deep in two Italian models this morning, turns out threesomes are a really good cure for hangovers by the way. But despite that, he felt an itch he couldn’t scratch that resembled something pretty close to jealousy.

“What’s he like?” Harry asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno, tall, glasses, got that whole nerdy silent thing going for him.”

“That’s what you like then, silent types?” He asked, running a hand through his long curls, and she reached out to play with one.

She shook her head, and said distractedly, “I don’t know.”

“Makes sense why you never dated me then.” 

During primary school, Harry dated every girl in their class including Daisy and Penny, except Y/n who told him she didn’t fancy him. It was an ongoing topic of discussion between them. Why wasn't he good enough? He always asked.

She laughed at that comment. “I know you too well for that, and I get the unfiltered you, and I lived with you which was basically like being married to you. We bickered too much to ever date, Haz.”

He looked at her with hooded eyes, and for some reason that stung, but trying to be light-hearted he said. “Never say never, what if we needed to repopulate the earth?”

She looked over at him and placed a hand on his and kissed his cheek, all soft and slow, and for a moment he thought she might actually kiss him for real but instead, she said. “There’ll be no hope for humanity then.”

He sighed, fake pouting before a couple of minutes of silence passed and he turned to her and said. “Come with me to Brazil.”

Her eyes widened, “What?"

“I leave tomorrow night, come with me.” He said.

She frowned. “What? Come with you? You can't be serious.”

He nodded. “Please? I miss you! And we can party for a whole week together, or sleep, or do whatever the fuck you want! Just come, pack a bikini and something sparkly, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

Y/n and Harry did end up going to Brazil but that’s a story for another time.

She stood up from the couch holding her hand out to him, and he slid his into hers. Cool rings grazing the soft skin of her palm.

“Let’s just go to sleep, you're talking like a crazy person.” She said, softly pushing a lock of his hair away from his eyes.

He sighed at her, “But m’ serious, Love.”

“Alright, ask me again tomorrow. That is if you even remember...now come on, let’s listen to Fleetwood Mac and sleep until tomorrow evening.”

Y/n's room was cosy and welcoming. Harry felt his eyes droop at the sight. A tiny lamp shining over them in an orange glow, her cot-like bed covered in blankets and the scent of her likely covering those sheets.

That night they slept in Y/n’s twin bed, cuddling, with Stevie Nicks serenading them to sleep. Cheeks plump and pink from too much alcohol, hands wandering scandalously, and the love in air was thick and obvious.

Before Y/n fell asleep she pecked his lips, in a quick kiss, one that it barely even touched him and said, “Night, mate,”

His lips burned like wildfire, and from that night on, he did think humanity had a chance if it was up to them. Whether or not she believed that.

“Night, Love.”

i have been a bit slack with updates lately...second year of uni is crazy and im already soooo busy, but i missed them and i wanted to write a lil sum for y'all until my next proper update :) BIG LOVEEEE

[wosowrites]

Mama and Mommy (Jill Roord x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: i am so sorry that this took forever. also let’s pretend Jill has been with Wolfsburg for 6 years pls. I also had to add a twist for this to work and i couldn’t find the request again so some things may not be exact. I’m sorry abt that. based off this request:

prompt: in which Jill and reader have a secret child.

Having a child at 20 with your girlfriend of six month had never been the plan. You didn’t even like children. That is, until Rory came around. She was everything to you both. Technically, Rory was Jill’s goddaughter, but her biological mother had died giving birth to Rory. Rory’s father wasn’t in the picture, and neither was any other of Rory’s blood family. It all happened so fast, Jill lost her childhood best friend and then suddenly you had agreed to help take care of the baby girl with Jill. You had a child together.

You didn’t want to tell anyone about her due to the tough circumstances of her birth, as well as the fact as to keep Rory safe from her abusive biological father, no one could know about her.

So instead of hiding her completely, you told your teammates she was a friends daughter. Everyday you were in shock at how you had managed to raise such a beautiful, sweet girl together in secret. The timing was perfect, somehow. Jill was out for a year on injury, so she took care of Rory at home, and when you got back to your apartment from training, you would take Rory out to the park and let Jill rest.

Three years later, you had madrid Jill, and then on this day, you had a five year old.

Today was a game against Bayern. You were set to have a sitter come and take care of Rory, but an hour before you were supposed to leave, the sitter called and cancelled.

"What do we do? I mean we can’t leave her here! But we have no one to take care of her at the game." You panicked, pacing around the living room as Rory played with her toys on the carpet. "Y/n. Breathe. Please. I know what we need to do it’s just… it means we have to tell someone." Jill said, placing her hands on your waist and trying to calm you down. "But- but we can’t. Her father." You whispered to Jill. "She doesn’t have a father. He won’t find her. I promise you. Vivianne is at the game today. She’s travelling with Beth because of their ACL ruptures. We can tell them." Jill said.

Your eyes welled up and tears slipped down your cheeks. "We’ve always found a way, baby. On international break and during the world cup she stayed with my mom. It’s okay." Jill said.

It was true, other than you and Jill, Jill’s mum knew about your daughter, and she had always been amazing.

"Okay. I’ll call them and ask them to come over."

Thirty minutes later, you and Jill were in your wolfsburg kits and tracksuits, ready to leave for the game. Rory was sitting on your lap, playing with your hair as you held her. You had always been protective of Rory, scared she would get taken away.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your own head, and Jill opened it slowly. "Hey guys!" Viv said, hugging Jill and then looking over to you.

Her face fell in confusion as she saw Rory. "You guys babysitting again?" Beth asked, giving Jill a small hug.

The apartment was silent and felt cold. "She’s our daughter." You said out of nowhere.

There was silence in the apartment, broken by Beth. "Uhm. What do you mean… daughter?" Beth asked.

And then it was time for a story. You explained everything, Jill chipping in here and there, until you stopped talking.

"Okay then. That’s-" Viv seemed quite stunned, and a bit pale. "We called you here to ask you to take care of her during the game. The babysitter canceled and-" Jill started saying. "Yea! That’s a great idea. Right Viv?" Beth said, obviously trying to get her girlfriend out of her trance. "Yeah." She said, nodding slowly. "Come here, sweetie." Viv said.

Rory ran over to Viv and jumped into her arms, so Viv picked her up. "We really need to go, but we’ll see you guys after the game?" Jill said.

You kissed your daughter on the cheek, hugged Beth and Viv and then walked out of the apartment. "Oh and one more thing guys, do not tell anyone who she is."

It was the 88th minute when a penalty got awarded to Wolfsburg. Bayern was winning 2-1, and this was exactly what Wolfsburg needed. An equalizer.

Your captained Wolfsburg, and you tried to offer the ball to Lena, but she declined, telling you this was your time.

You struck it very well. It wasn’t a poor penalty, but sometimes keepers save it. The bayern keeper did well, and saved your shot.

That’s how the game ended, 2-1. A loss. You groaned in annoyance, pulling your jersey over your face and letting a few tears fall. You didn’t want Rory to see you cry but you were angry with yourself.

"You did great, my love. It happens." Jill said, putting her arm around you as you lowered your jersey and revealed wet cheeks and red eyes.

You walked on the pitch, clapping at the fans and soon saw that Viv and Beth had been let onto the field. They were running around with Rory and found a ball to pass with her. But Rory lost interest quickly as she came running to Jill. "Isn’t that your friends daughter or something? She’s like your kid." Lena laughed. "She’s not! She- I’m! I don’t have a kid." Jill stuttered as Rory ran around her.

"Mama! Mama! Why is mommy crying?" Rory asked.

Rory had broken the rule.

When she was a baby, it wasn’t a problem, but now that she was older, you and Jill had invented a game where around your teammates she got a special pass to call you by your first names. But from a little kid, what would you expect.

The Wolfsburg girls froze, all having heard the little girls words. "Why is she crying, mama?" Rory said again, tugging at Jill’s jersey.

Your face fell and you crouched down to Rory’s height, the little girl running towards you and jumping into your arms. "What does she mean by mama and mommy?" Alexandra asked, looking between the both of you.

You didn’t say anything, just cried silently into your daughters hair. Emotions were sky high, and you were tired and angry and disappointed and scared for your child. "You cannot tell anyone!" You whispered yelled. "Any of you. We didn’t say anything for a reason. We needed to keep her safe. Okay? So just… yeah we have a kid. Oh we’re also married." You said, handing your daughter over to your wife and storming into the tunnel. "Mama’s mad." Rory said, making some of the girls smile at her.

"Okay, Jill." Lena said, walking over to the dutch and her daughter. "Give me Rory and go talk to your… wife… apparently." Lena said. "You sure?"

"Yes. Go." Lena picked up the little girl, placing her on her hip. "You’re stinky." Rory said. "Thanks sweetheart."

Jill jogged into the tunnel where you were pacing up and down. "Baby…" she said gently. "He'll find her. He can’t find her! He can’t!" You sobbed, shaking as you walked. "Y/n." Jill said sternly, grabbing your arm gently and pulling you towards her. She wrapped her arms around you, putting a hand on the back of your head and holding it to the crook of her neck. "It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay." She said a couple of times. "The team knows now, they know. You know what that means? That girl is the most protected child in the world. She has the german captain protecting her and another 10 german girls. European finalists. She has Sveindís who’s probably the most loving person ever, she has Rebecka and if she has Rebecka then she has the whole swedish team. She’s also gonna have the entire netherlands squad with her. And she has Viv, so she has Arsenal. And if she has Arsenal she has Leah. And if-" Jill started saying. "She has England. I know." You laughed. "Yeah. And even if she didn’t have them, she has her mums. She has her mama and her mommy. And that’s all she needs." Jill said to you, rubbing her hand down your back. "You’re right. You’re right." You whispered. "I love you. And I love our daughter." You said, pulling away and kissing her.

"Let’s go back out." Jill said. She grabbed your hand and you guys walked out together, for once, you didn’t let go. You held on to her as you walked out of the tunnel and onto the pitch, and what you saw could have mad you start crying again. Rory was standing at the penalty mark, the ball in front of her and Merle in net. Rory ran up and hit the ball poorly, Merle faked a dramatic fall to the left as the ball rolled very slowly into the net. When the ball went over the line, Merle pretend to be mad as the whole team screamed and ran over to Rory, acting as though she had just scored the best goal ever. Rory laughed loudly, her young kid belly laugh filling the stadium. Lena picked her up and put her on her shoulders, celebrating with her.

Even after a loss, your team still had your back, and now, they would have your daughters.

[deuteragonists-mismatched-socks]

Numb and Alright - Shane (Stardew Valley)

This is a mostly complete fic idea that I had after a little while of playing Stardew Valley that has been sitting in my drafts for a while. I suppose the best way to describe it would be a prequel.

Warnings: references to violence, references to death, funeral, references to sensory overload, references to alcoholism, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

Yoba, he had told them. He knew this place was no good for a kid, for a family. Sure, it was where they had grown up, but it didn't mean they should've stayed there. Not with her.

Jas hadn't stopped crying. He couldn't blame her—neither had he. Of all the people... of all the people walking down that street. They didn't have money, they didn't even have their own car... they didn't deserve... they didn't deserve living there in the first place, but for—

He slapped the steering wheel, swearing under his breath, and he saw Jas jump out of the corner of his eye. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, pumpkin, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He rested a shaking hand on her shoulder. "You okay?" She shook her head silently. "Yeah, me neither.

"Should we, uh, head home?"

Jas didn't say anything. "Yeah, okay."

They entered the darkened apartment, and Shane sighed. "I just realized, I don't... I don't have another room, or, or a bed."

"I could sleep on the couch?" Jas squeaked out her first words in the last six hours. 

"No, you're not sleeping on the couch," Shane said, offended. "You can—you alright if we share my bed? It's a queen, it's-it-it's probably best if you're not alone, right?"

Jas thought for a moment before nodding.

"Okay."

It was already 5 AM, and Shane didn't sleep, at all. He stayed put until the light streaming in through the window he had forgotten to draw the curtains over was undeniable. At some point through the night, Jas had rolled herself under his left arm, and he did his best to let her stay there. He waited until she rubbed an arm across her eyes to say anything.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, his voice gravelly. "How are you doing?"

She didn't answer for a moment, her eyes travelling back and forth across the ceiling. "Mom and Dad aren't... aren't coming to get me, are they?"

Shane breathed out through his nose, rubbing his forehead. "No, pumpkin, they're not. I'm so sorry." His left hand brushed her arm soothingly.

"Where did they go?" Jas asked. 

Shane sighed again. He knew that Jas was a smart kid—she wasn't asking where they were physically. She knew.

"I don't know, honey," he told her honestly. Yoba never really told anyone about an afterlife. Shane didn't really believe in him anymore, anyway. Not when they were so loyal.

"I hope they're safe," Jas said quietly, and Shane's heart broke. 

"They are, nothing can ever hurt them. They're just sleeping, huh?" He pulled her closer into his side, and she buried her face in his chest.

With every step, his stomach sunk further. He had to retch, he had to run, something. 

This apartment is why they're dead, his mind whispered. What would you have done if Jas was with them?

Joined them, probably.

He could hardly bear to look at the exterior of the building as he approached, willing the keys not to slip from his clammy hands.

Why couldn't you go pro? Why couldn't you stay? That money would've bought them a nice place on the other side of town, a car, a good school, a life.

Shane clamped his eyes shut for a moment before unlocking the door.

The stairs had never seemed so short—he was at their door before he even had a chance to prepare for it.

Why can't you do anything right?

"I've gotta get out of here," he muttered to himself, running his hands through his hair frantically. This was no place for a kid and a lost godfather. Especially when he could never walk down that street again. Especially when he couldn't even clean out their apartment. Yoba, what was he supposed to do with their things?

The funeral went as well as a funeral could. Shane forced himself to stay because Jas was sitting next to him, gripping his hand for dear life. Maybe he should have asked if she wanted to leave.

He wondered if everyone thought he was an ass for refusing to speak. It didn't matter.

The hardest part wasn't even seeing their ashes buried in her little family plot, next to her grandparents. It wasn't seeing his mom collapse to her knees in the wet grass. 

It was the get-together afterwards.

Shane's hair felt like it was taped to his head and he swore he could feel the stubble struggling out of his skin even though he had taken every pain to shave that morning. The band-aid next to his ear wasn't too noticeable. He didn't think it turned red, not after he just let it bleed into the sink for so long. His tie coiled around his neck like a python, crushing his windpipe.

And he had to shake hands and smile grimly while everyone offered their sympathies. He couldn't have an episode like earlier when one of her friends had tried reminiscing with him and he had all but run away from her.

The fluorescent lights of the community center burned his eyes and rang in his ears as a short, older woman appeared in front of him.

"I am so sorry for your loss," The woman said, brown eyes dark and sincere in her round face.

Shane spent an uncomfortable few seconds scrutinizing her features before speaking. "I am so sorry, but... who are you?"

She tilted her head forward, smiling faintly. Her auburn braid dropped over her shoulder. "I'm your Aunt Marnie!"

"Right, of course," Shane answered, holding out his arms for a hug despite his extreme need to not be touched. "It's just been so long since I've seen you."

"Your eighth-grade gridball finals, actually," Marnie agreed.

Someone had been so thoughtful as to bring a case of Yuengling as their contribution to the potluck-style affair. Shane gazed at it for a long moment, wondering what would happen if he took one. Just forget about Dad. You're not him.

He grabbed one from the cooler, wiping the condensation off with the lining of his suit jacket.

You can't, some inner voice pleaded. You have to get out, you have to get away, you can't slip away like this.

He returned to his seat at the only table that wasn't full. At least some people knew when to leave well enough alone.

His fingernail caught the underside of the pull tab. He didn't pull it. He couldn't.

"You alright, kiddo?" A woman asked, pulling out the chair in front of him. The word kiddo made Shane's ear twitch. Marnie.

"That's the first time someone's asked me that," he said honestly, eyes fixed on the plastic tablecloth.

"I think they're maybe afraid of the answer," his aunt supplied helpfully, and Shane huffed through his nose. 

"Probably. You're not?"

"No," she shrugged, and Shane glanced up to see her eyes were still as warm as earlier—and completely honest. "What's on your mind?"

I miss them. I want to be with them, or them to be with me, I just don't want to be alone. If I could, I would've gone in their place. They'd be more okay than I am. But I think that makes me selfish, that I wouldn't only be doing it for them. I have no clue on earth or in hell how to care for this little kid but I want to do right by her and I don't know who to ask for help. I haven't been into work for the past three weeks and I'm probably going to get fired as soon as I step foot in the store again. And then where will I be? How am I going to pay for her clothes? Her school? Her toys and friends and outings?

"I just don't know where to go," Shane said instead. "I'm not exactly rich, especially now that I'm paying for two people, and I don't want to uproot Jas, but... I don't think either of us can stay here anymore. With the war, there's just nowhere to go." He fidgeted with the unopened can in his hand.

Marnie observed him, kneading her hands. "Well, you could come live with me. I live in Pelican Town, Stardew Valley. It's a nice little place, lots of little rivers and forests, right by the ocean. And Jas would probably love the ranch, maybe even helping out with the animals."

Shane's head shot up in disbelief. There were a million questions, but only one mattered at the moment. "Are you sure? Don't you... I mean, aren't there, um, other people in the house? Would they be okay with that?" Shane asked nervously.

"I always got along better with animals than people," Marnie chuckled shyly. "Cows and pigs don't mind so much if you're quiet."

Shane forced his best polite smile. God, even if her comment did amuse him, it was so hard to make his face comply.

"We're suffering from the recession, same as anyone, but we're still alive," she added, a bit more somberly. "It's a good place to get away to."

He nodded. "Thank you, Marnie. You have... you have no idea how much this means to me. To both of us. I'm going to see what Jas thinks on the way home. I'll call—oh. Can I have your phone number?"

Shane had many more professions of thanks in the short time before he and Jas slipped away to their—that word still felt strange, his house belonging to two people—apartment, before the sun could set.

The can of Yuengling stayed abandoned on the table.

Shane had suggested getting a cot or an air mattress, so that Jas could use his bed until they figured out if they were going to stay or move somewhere else. Jas had informed him quite certainly that that was unnecessary. So, the left side was Jas'. There was a painted seashell her mom had bought her from one of those artsy corner stores on the bedside table, full of beaded elastic bracelets her dad helped her make. She never wore them, but she often played with them absently before going to sleep. The shh-shh-click-click-click had become familiar, and almost helped Shane to fall asleep every night. Almost.

"What would you think of moving out of the city?" He asked her as he tucked her in, before moving to his side of the bed. "Out to the country, on a farm?"

Jas pretended for a little to not hear him, the bracelets click-clicking in the silence. "Would I have to go to a different school?"

"Yeah," Shane told her honestly. "And we'd have to pack up a lot of stuff," he sighed regretfully, reflecting on how difficult it was just to move her clothes from their apartment into his. "But I think it'd be nice, what about you?"

Jas took her time to respond. "What kind of animals would there be?"

"Well, it's my aunt Marnie's ranch, and she told me that she has chickens, and goats, and cows, even shaggy cows," Shane explained, and he almost smiled to himself. His speech patterns had started adjusting to speaking to a little kid, he guessed. "Does that sound like fun?"

"I like animals," she said quietly. "Do you?"

Shane smiled softly. "I don't know, I've never really been around them. Chickens sound pretty cool, though. Did you know they're descendants of dinosaurs?"

They talked about T-Rex and triceratops until Jas fell asleep.

There were no jobs in Pelican Town. Not that suited him, anyway. It was stupid, selfish, that in this terrible array, he still wanted to find something that wasn't a supermarket. With so much of his soul already crushed, he didn't want to just give the rest of it away to that faceless entity anymore.

But the farm was still under possession, or so he was told, working at Marnie's wasn't enough to pay the rent and buy food, not when business was so slow, Pierre couldn't afford help, Maru was already working the desk at Harvey's, Gus had Emily, Gunther never left the library, Robin and Demetrius were too smart to need help, George was too stubborn to accept any, and he didn't know a single damn thing about blacksmithing or fishing. So... JojaMart it was.

"Are we still gonna share?" Jas asked.

"I dunno, kiddo," Shane told her. "I think it would be nice if you had your own bed, don't you?"

Jas thought for a moment. "But what if... what if I have nightmares?"

"I'll be in the same house, kid," he comforted her, petting the top of her head. "You can just come get me, any hour of the night."

"How was your first day?" Marnie asked, her voice everbright. 

"Great," Shane said flatly, regretting the word as it left his mouth. The least this woman deserved for her kindness was respect, not sarcasm. He took his time hanging his jacket and hat on the hook by the door. "Not great," he said, more sincerely. "But it'll be better once I start getting paid, I guess."

"Why don't we go to the saloon? Get something fatty and filling and warm?" Marnie suggested, wringing her hands nervously. Shane understood why. Poor Marnie; he hadn't seen her in twenty years and this was how they reunited. "Penny will keep an eye on Jas until about nine."

"Sure."

"How about two of the daily specials? Shane, do you like spicy food?"

Shane cracked his first small grin of the day. "Yeah, love it, actually."

"Well then, two daily specials," Marnie said with a matching smile. And a lager, please."

Shane hesitated. He had seen what beer and whiskey did to people back home. Took them away from their families, wasted their money, killed them and killed others. 

But that was back home. Everything had been turned on its head already. Maybe in sleepy little Pelican Town, everything would be alright. He couldn't hit anyone if he didn't have a car. He couldn't... he wouldn't get out of line because he had Jas to look after, and Marnie to look after him.

And, oh, did he need to be numb, did he need to feel warm and alright.

"Make that two," he said, willing himself not to stumble all over the words.

"I'll get right on it," Gus said genially.

The cool liquid coated his veins in warmth, and for the first time in six weeks, Shane felt almost okay.

Almost.

[moonglide]

pokemon echoes of wisdom hours 2 & 3

-ok first i just want to say two things

-1. that mention of 'hopefully my nuzlocke experience will help' two posts ago was supposed to be a joke. Why is it accurate. This game is actually pokemon. I am seeing a moblin and saying, oh that's a fighting type, time to send out the flying type keese! I'm seeing deku babas and sending the fire candle guys because fire > grass.

-2. some people are complaining that you can't get up close and personal as zelda and I'm like. that's not a bad thing. the levels of strategy i have to employ is insane. I feel so clever. Zelda feels different to play than link does, and I think that's a good thing. I'm not playing a linkle game, I'm playing a zelda game.

spoilers below the cut, i guess. i hope i do it right.

--got the rupees for the heart piece

-went in caves and got like six different monsters. flame candle is my fave so far.

-went into the still world. the music is creepy. i hate it. 10/10.

-i was not expecting a first dungeon this early but I'm not complaining

-god these puzzles are fun.

-dark link was a fun challenge. my initial plan was to use a darknut to distract him and then set him on fire, but spamming ropes ended up working better.

-ropes are actually really useful because even though they die in one hit, they attack really quickly and you can summon a ton of them

-it's really fun to distract some strong foe with like three monsters and then take a nap to restore health

-oh also i figured out bed strats. when you first enter a bed, you gain a half heart after around three seconds, and each succesive heart takes about five. If you get out and sleep again after getting your first half heart, it goes quicker.

-ohhh i can use keese to hit the rock guy's weak point

-damn that's a lot of tris

-excuse me??? they use the echo ability to restore the land and people??? doesn't that mean that the restored people are just copies???

-hold up the corrupted people are just copies too. is there an evil tri loose?

-wait, ganon came out of the rift, which means that the ganon from before might've just been a clone, and real ganon got rifted. hmmmmm

-no, lefte, i don't want to travel together. let me ignore the plot minister lefte. please. lefte.

-ok so you can upgrade the sword with impa's brother. okay.

-oh also hold on what the fuck impa is the only one that can't see tri. I think she's been rifted, and she only helped us with the guards to gain our trust to pull a totk puppet zelda on us

-and also i got a bottle earlier and the fairies just jump into it. which means that fairies in bottles aren't being captured, they just like to be in bottles. fairies are hermit crabs. change my mind.

-got some water types and met the great fairy.

-i tried to run away from the plot. saw a sign leading to seasyde village. went there. found plot. I hate how well this game is railroading me without my realizing. i am playing checkers and nintendo is playing six-dimensional chess.

-got some shark guy, is very strong. best water type.

-oh god zora cove is MASSIVE. even bigger than lake hylia. god i hope he hydrology in this game makes more sense than in totk and botw.

-you can stack octorocks. you all need to know that.

-delivering fish. found a moblin evolution. killed it. absorbed its essence. mine.

-favorite pokemon monster: ropes are probably the most useful, but ignacio or whatever its name is is my favorite. he's just a destructive little guy

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @inej-ghafa-deserves-the-world @thatdelusionalnerd

If anyone wants to be added let me know :)

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's ptsd references

AO3 link: Daughter of the Rain and Snow - Chapter 100 - She_posts_nerdy_stuff - Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 99 - Inej

Inej didn’t know how long she had slept for, leaning on Kaz with the curtains open and the sun still leaking through the window, because she wasn’t sure exactly when she’d fallen asleep, but it was afternoon when she awoke, her head clouded but less painful, the ache in her side dull and distant. Distant enough, anyway. Kaz was still there, still awake, still holding her. It must have been at least three hours, she thought.

“Kept myself busy,” he said, when she asked how he hadn’t lost his mind for boredom, “Started reading this,”

He showed her the book she’d left on the nightstand, the one she'd borrowed from Jesper.

“It’s not bad,” he said, “But there must be another twist coming, because I’d worked out who the father was by chapter three,”

Inej smiled. 

“Don’t tell Jesper that,”

She stood and stretched, still stiff but grateful for every ache in her muscles that meant she could still feel them, was still breathing, was still alive. 

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Six bells,”

Inej paused.

“We leave the house at six bells or the boat departs at six bells?”

“We leave the house. Our ferry departs at seven bells, the Wraith should be here by nine. I need to stop at the Slat to pick up the forged travel documents, and to tell Anika and Pim what time to get Rollins to the docks,”

Inej still wasn’t sure she liked this plan very much. She nodded.

“They bring him to Ravka,” she said, “Then when they return they pick up Maya. Fiona will need to be on the boat back to Ravka again, but I’ll need a Corporalnik on the team staying in Ketterdam to finish the Tulip Mill job. Do you think Evan would do it?”

“Possibly,” Kaz mused, “But it might depend how much time he can afford to spare. Or how much time Feliks will give him,”

Inej nodded. Kaz knew something she didn’t, and she wasn’t sure why he wasn’t telling her. Some kind of secret of Evan’s, she supposed. It shouldn’t matter.

“Can we put Maya in a Dregs safehouse until the Wraith returns?” she asked, pulling a clean tunic from the chest of drawers.

“I suppose,” said Kaz, “I can easily spare someone to watch her for a few weeks,”

Inej shook her head.

“It’s not just watching her; even if she’s better than I am she’s going to be ill, she’ll probably hallucinate - and she needs support anyway. Maybe I should ask Fiona to stay…”

Inej thought of Maya collapsing at the shelter, whispering Celina’s name. She did not voice that to Kaz.

Maybe not Fiona, then. But someone.

“I’ll speak to Nina,”

Kaz raised an eyebrow.

“She’s not coming to Ravka?”

Both of them had assumed Nina would follow them on the Wraith. Inej had actually assumed Nina would come on the ferry with them, but at some point it had all been organised and Nina was staying behind.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come?” Nina had asked, hand closed over Inej’s, not long after Inej had first woken up after her hallucination.

Nina had never actually offered to come, only made the assumption that Inej would expect her to. Are you sure you don’t need me to come? Need. Not want. Inej frowned. Nina had been slightly off all week, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was she wasn’t telling her. She would not force her to say anything she didn’t want to.

“I need you to help look after the girls for me,” she’d murmured, resting her head on Nina’s shoulder, “And to look after Jesper and Wylan,”

Nina leant her head on Inej’s.

“I’ll write to you every day,”

“You’d better,”

Nina had laughed, softly.

“I promise,” she murmured, “Kaz packed you a bag, but if there’s anything particular you want I can go and get it,”

“Have you seen the scarf Aimee made for me? I think it’s downstairs,”

Nina squeezed Inej’s shoulder, then stood up.

“I’ll go find it,”

Now Inej shook her head, shrugging a little.

“I asked her to help Jesper and Wylan with the girls,” she said, “But maybe she can stay with Maya instead, I don’t… I’ll talk to her,”

It was all too complicated for Inej to keep track of. She sat in the living room and explained what she could to Aimee and Kiada, then spent most of the day’s remainder curled on one of the sofas and talking quietly to whomever wandered in and out. Both Jesper and Wylan sat with her for a while at some point; each at different times and she knew they didn’t want to leave Clemmie alone. She asked them both the same question.

“How is she?”

“Hard to say,” murmured Wylan.

“Terrible,” said Jesper, “But what else are we supposed to expect?” 

Kaz stayed with her most of the day. He was quiet, most of the time, but spoke softly to Aimee and Kiada - and Inej could probably have kept perfect track of time by counting how many times he’d asked how she was feeling. Every ten minutes, like clockwork. 

“I’m thirsty,” she told him, and before she could continue he replied:

“Oh, good. I was starting to wonder if ‘fine’ was the only word in your vocabulary,”

Inej squeezed his hand and made to stand up.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea,”

“No you’re not,”

He pulled gently on her arm and she let him sit her back down, leaning her up to him as he stood and his lips briefly pressed against her forehead. He turned to the girls and offered them a drink - they both declined - and then walked slowly from the room. And so he was not there, when Nina came and said that she thought Maya was dying.

“It’s far worse than we thought,” Nina murmured, “She’s completely delirious. If we don’t-”

Inej lay a hand on Nina’s arm to quiet her, and glanced at Aimee and Kiada. Nina nodded.

“She’s barely conscious,” Nina said in Ravkan, “She’s awake but she’s not… here, I don’t know - it’s like she’s dreaming,”

“Evan said she had eight months,” Inej replied, matching Nina’s language choice. She shook her head, “How-?”

“A Corpoalnik can’t tell what’s happening in her brain,” said Nina, “It’s too complex - that’s why he couldn’t stop the hallucinations. The poison isn’t only affecting her body it’s affecting her memory, her -”

“What are you telling me, Nina?”

“I’m saying she needs to go. Now”

Inej breathed. 

“She can’t come with us,” she said, “I can’t put her on the Wraith with Alby. We cannot get her to Ravka for at least another two weeks-”

“If she sets off now she might not survive the journey,” Nina bit her lip, “She needs to get there as soon as possible, can’t the Wraith take her first and come back for Alby?”

Inej pressed her fingers to her eyelids.

It would be taking a risk to leave Alby at the Slat for that long. And would they even be able to help Maya without him? If Kaz was right about needing to know what poison he’d used, probably not. Saints, this felt like a terrible plan.

“The Wraith will have to take them both,” she whispered, opening her eyes, “But I’ll already be gone before they get here, will you be able to get her to the docks? I’ll leave a message for Specht so he knows the new plan,”

Nina nodded.

This felt like a disaster waiting to happen. But it also felt like the only viable option.

*

The sun was almost dawning when Inej reluctantly let Kaz drag her out of bed. 

“I left you to sleep as long as possible,” he whispered, “But we need to go,”

Inej groaned softly; Kaz wass pushing the loose hair off her face and she turned slightly so that he was cupping her cheek as she slowly opened her eyes. He wasn’t wearing his gloves.

“I’m tired,”

He shook his head.

“Of all the times to finally accept that you need to rest,” he told her, taking her arm and pulling her to sit up, “Now is just about the worst one you could have chosen,”

“What time is it?”

“Five bells. Ina Harte’s clothes are on the chair; we’re leaving in an hour,”

He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, and then he was gone. Inej had thought the names were only for the travel documents - why did she have to wear specific clothes? Had she forgotten part of the plan? That felt dangerous. It felt frightening.

She had tried to explain everything to Maya last night, so she would be ready or at least understand what was going on, but she wasn’t sure it had made a difference to anything. Maya spent most of the time looking at her without seeing that she was there, staring straight through her with blank eyes. When she did notice Inej was talking to her, she either panicked or shut down. It took a long conversation to not say very much.

Inej stretched and then collected the clothes Kaz had left for her, and realised why he’d chosen them. She had not forgotten the plan. She had forgotten that the Hartes were middle class - and Kaz was insistent on them looking believable.

At least it was a fairly simple dress, as such things went - this was Kerch, after all. The clothes were not nearly as frivolous as Inej had thought of the higher Ravkan classes. But it was not as comfortable as her trousers and quilted vest, nor did it have nearly as many places to carry her knives. It also wasn’t as subtle. She drew the line at putting a fluffy white feather in her little hat. That was just unnecessary. 

The scarf from Aimee did not really match the outfit. Inej didn't care; nothing could have stopped her from wearing it.

Kaz had already collected the forged travel documents and Inej stood by the front door reading hers with a frown; the description said Ina’s hair was shorter than hers, but other than that was accurate enough to pass. Considering that Mikhael and Ina were complete fabrications, Inej wasn’t sure why they couldn’t have descriptions that matched themselves perfectly, but Kaz had shaken his head and pointed to the dates.

“No-one actually looks the exact same as their description,” he said, “That would be more suspicious. And your hair could have easily grown since the last renewal,”

“What about yours?”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t say you have a scar,” she ran her finger down the faint white line on Kaz’s face, a remnant that had been slowly fading for the last ten years, “Just hoping they wouldn’t notice?”

Kaz smiled, caught her hand in his, pressed it to his heart.

They hadn’t woken the girls - she’d said goodbye to them last night and it was unnecessary to interrupt their sleep, but Inej still felt strange just walking out on them. They would be safe here. She knew that. But it made her nervous. Jesper and Wylan appeared in the hallway at the almost the same time, and before anyone had a chance to begin their goodbyes Jesper burst out laughing.

“What are you wearing?”

“Careful Fahey,” Inej winked, swishing the wide skirt of dress, “The pockets are still big enough to carry my brass knuckles,”

She released Nina’s arm to move into the hug Jesper was offering her, his long arms folding over her back so tightly he might never let go. 

“Be safe,” 

“I’ll try,”

She drew away slowly, gripping his hand in hers. His eyes were slightly misty as she squeezed his fingers and whispered:

“Thank you,”

“Oh, well, you know,” Jesper winked, “It’s what I do,”

He shuffled a little. Wylan hovered for a moment before Inej took his hand and pulled him close.

“I’ll see you soon,” she murmured, “And if I’m delayed you’d better not have that wedding without me,”

He laughed.

“Never,”

Nina walked them to the docks, listening to Inej repeat the plan for bringing Maya later. Inej was beginning to suspect that Nina was just humouring her, but she didn’t care because she needed to make sure that she’d done everything she could. She walked with her arm hook through Nina’s, leaning on her slightly, watching Kaz’s walking stick strike the cobbles in front of her. He’d exchanged his crow’s head cane for a less conspicuous option, and she wondered if there had been enough space in his trunk to pack his usual one for when they arrived. It looked like it might just be big enough, but it was hard to tell without actually lying them next to each other. 

The air grew colder as they approached the water and Inej tugged on her sleeve slightly. She was wondering how much Kaz had spent on these last minute tickets, and what their cabin was going to be like. She was wondering if there would be separate beds, in case he needed it. A week in close quarters was a long time. A week on a boat with nowhere to run to whilst Inej could start collapsing or losing her mind at any moment was going to be infinitely longer. She should have suggested other options. Kaz wouldn’t have taken them. 

“Write every day,” Inej said, clutching Nina’s hand, "Just constantly. I want an hour by hour run down of your life,”

Nina smiled.

“Minute by minute,” she pulled Inej close and kissed her on the cheek, “It’s going to be okay. You- it’s all going to be okay,”

Inej nodded. She was trying not to cry.

She pressed her forehead against Nina’s.

“Ne Zalost,” she whispered, laughing softly.

Nina smiled.

“Ne Zalost,”

[peony-pearl]

@khoc-week - Journal

I decided to do a little snippet section of what Nimue's journal could look like; it doesn't track the induction of every team member, but mostly some important emotional and plot beats for Nimue (without being too long or spoilery XD)

Day 1: I have decided to chronicle my journey after finding quite a handsome book in a marketplace located somewhere known as Twilight Town. For a world that seems so established, I have never heard of it. I must be very far from home, which feels stranger than having been stuck in the Realm of Darkness.

If my companion, Merlock, is to be trusted, then Yen Sid has become a man of old age, meaning many years have passed while I was locked away. It has been a week since I returned to the Realm of Light and each day my desire to see him cowering and curled at my feet only becomes stronger. I will rid the realm of his cowardice and falsehoods, and I will have peace.

Day 23: It seems Chaos doesn't intend on giving us much space. He has followed us from world to world, even through Merlock's use of dark portals. But he doesn't seem to want to turn us over to Maleficent. He is like a buzzing fly, but I have seen what he is capable of. If we are to be followed around by a godling, I suppose I'd rather it be one that enjoys our company. Merlock isn't too enthusiastic about his presence, but I think I managed to convince him how this could work in our favor. He's a stick in the mud, but he does see how being on the good side of such a creature would be beneficial to us.

Day 30: We were so close. We found his tower! We found his tower and we managed to corner Yen Sid like the vermin he is! But he has allies we weren't prepared for. Fairies, three of them, and a small group of young warriors at his disposal. In the ruckus, a girl tried to stop me with no weapon, no magic; she rushed over to me and grabbed my hands and the hilt of my keyblade in an effort to subdue me. Such a brave little maiden! I didn't have the heart to toss her across the room; unfortunately Merlock doesn't have the heart I have, and he did toss her rather unceremoniously onto her lover boy, a young soldier who serves a 'King Mickey'.

In the middle of the fight, Yen Sid and the Fairies that serve him relocated us to a different world before we could stop him. I don't remember much after that, except for Merlock stopping me from blindly swinging my keyblade, and I had screamed so loud I have now lost my voice. Merlock now insists I drink an herbal concoction to soothe my throat; he won't leave until I drink it. Perhaps he does have a heart.

Day 50: We have a new attendee in the ranks. A girl named Mint attempted to rob Owen as he wandered through the crowds in Corona. He handled her rather swiftly, although once she caught sight of Chaos, she became much more agreeable. She has apparently lost her title of crown princess as of recently, and is looking for something called a Relic to win back her status against her sister. When she learned of our goal, she became enamored with the thought of gaining some powerful magic; and thus we are now a party of five. (Six if you count Puck, but he is Owen... or is Owen Puck? I am still figuring that one out)

Day 62: The days are feeling shorter; it is rather an odd thing. When I was first released, the hours dragged by as I wanted nothing more than to make my way to Yen Sid's tower. To feel my claws tear at him and hear him beg for mercy. But now I can barely keep track of the time. I often find myself in Merlock's presence, hearing his tales of his travels and attempted conquests. He's a talented shapeshifter, and the talisman Maleficent gave him has tremendous magic. I told him I'll bet he's the best sorcerer I've met and he laughed, remarking how I'm saying that out of spite for the man we intend to rob. I laughed hard for the first time in so so long. I didn't want that moment to end, and yet there was nothing incredibly special about it; but I will always remember that sunset.

Day 70: Owen discovered our newest addition today: A sorcerer locked in a rather fantastic mirror who goes by the name of Magnifico. He is an odd fellow. It seems isolation was not very kind to him.

He spoke of a land called Rosas... it has been abandoned since I was a girl. I don't think anyone has lived there since my grandparents' time. Seeing him try to come to terms with this was more painful than I'd like to admit, and thus I offered him a place with us. He seemed reluctant at first, but overall he had little other choice, and he accepted our conditions, and is very enthusiastic about our goals, as it will benefit him greatly.

Day 100: I have come to find out that the girl who tried to stop me from obliterating Yen Sid some weeks ago is named Roxanne, and in putting her hand on my keyblade, it has unlocked her own powers. I saw her put herself in my way today, clumsily wielding her key. She was so determined, though, it was incredibly charming. I yanked the blade from her quicker than she could react. Whoever is training her is giving her quite poor advice, but she has a strong light. Harle managed to push the poor girl through a dark portal and I decided to be a good sport and at least toss her keyblade in after her.

Day 111: I have been humbled today. Our newest member is a scientist named Hollander. A man who allowed himself to be his own experimental model on the darkness; his work mirrors that of mine many years ago, the work Yen Sid destroyed.

He is slowly succumbing to a power he has taken years to control. His body has become twisted and gnarled with dark powers flowing through him. One day, if we don't find a way to reverse his situation, he will become a heartless, and he isn't sure if there will be enough of his true body left to create a Nobody.

Day 130: It is hard to believe how much time has passed since I have been released. My days seem so bright - so much like my days in Felicity.

I look to my team as they rest after a long day. As they talk, and laugh.

I feel nostalgic for days I have lost; days I will never have again.

How can so much joy bring so much pain?

Day 150: I saw it in his eyes; a feeling I wasn't prepared to feel such happiness surge through me again.

I spoke with Merlock, about how we had demolished a rather large heartless Maleficent had put in our path with ease; about plans; about the team, about how we would face glory soon and revel in the spoils of taking Yen Sid's magic.

His excited laughter met mine, and as I felt so jovial, I remembered him.

I remembered Yen Sid, looking at me with those eyes. I thought of old talks of old friends and confidants and those we fought together with.

I became withdrawn, and quickly excused myself for bed, pretending an old injury was acting up. He didn't seem too concerned, which consoled me. I passed by the team, who all had something to say as I retired; but each time I tried to respond in full, my heart felt too tight.

I can't do it again. I can't become attached.

I've finally made my decision, despite how much it hurts; it will only hurt worst if I let it go any further.

When Yen Sid is defeated and I have ensured Merlock's inheritance of his magics -

I will disappear from this world once more, and return to the embrace of the Realm of Darkness, where neither time nor light can hurt me again.

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 8 - Why Won't It Stop?

A/N: The time travelling may have finished, but the nightmares certainly didn't. Set after Part III.

The first night back in his own bed was pure hell.

Considering that the night he spent at the lake with Jennifer was peaceful, he was extremely unnerved to find himself almost tumbling out of the bed, placing a hand over his mouth to stop him from awakening the house with his screams.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He couldn't stop himself checking his calendar each time he jolted awake, just in case he'd somehow done another trip to the past in his sleep. Marty desperately wished Doc was still around to provide some insight, even though he wasn't a medical doctor. But he would have more idea of what the hell is going on than I do.

What also troubled him was that every night seemed to produce some new horror.

Sometimes Tannen was successful in hanging him, and he would watch his deceased body tumble to the ground as Doc roared with anguish. Other times Doc was the one being hung, and Marty was forced to watch the life leave his eyes while struggling in the grip of Tannen's goons.

Some nights it was being trapped underneath his seventeen-year-old mother as she excitedly kissed him. She would moan his name and keep his arms pinned below him as they made out in the white Packard. Sometimes he would see his dad standing behind her, glaring at him while his mother caressed his face.

That was the only one that always made him vomit. He'd learnt to keep a rubbish bin near his bed that he could grab in case those unholy images greeted him during the night.

Occasionally the Delorean would fail to reach the target point, and instead of travelling back to 1985, he would watch himself crumpling into the wall of the cinema.

After the first six weeks he seriously began considering the notion that he would have to tell his parents. Although they hadn't asked any prying questions so far, it was clear to him that they had noticed he wasn't sleeping well. He would retire early in the evening, only to be rudely awoken by his brain at around midnight, and often didn't fall asleep again until the early hours of the morning.

His dad had once pointed out the dark circles under his eyes, and that had hit a little too close to home for Marty's liking.

It's not like I fought in a war or anything either! All I did was go back in time.

I mean, I did get shot at. And punched. And hung. And nearly erased from existence.

He eventually did enough snooping through psychology textbooks at the library to work out that he had some form of traumatic disorder, though that became the extent of his mental health knowledge as the terminology grew longer than ten letters. The obvious problem, however, was that he couldn't go seeking an official diagnosis, as he knew they would have him in the mental asylum by the end of the first appointment. Right. So getting official help is definitely not an option.

He spent about a weeks' worth of sleepless nights pondering if he even should begin to approach the subject with his parents. How the hell am I supposed to say it? Hey mom and dad, I'm the guy who made you guys fall in love 'cause Doc invented a time machine?

Ultimately, the more he thought about it, the more he decided that he couldn't tell them. He was now the sole reason that they had even laid eyes on each other; if he hadn't dragged George to meet Lorraine face to face, he would've had no reason to seek her out or take her to the dance. What if it breaks something in the space time continuum? What if they disown me? What if I fade out of existence or some shit?

Although he had no concrete scientific reasons why he couldn't tell them, he'd come to a very simple realisation: they would never believe him. Considering that there were no photos of him from when he was Calvin Klein (that he was aware of), and how much time had passed for them since they last saw 'Calvin', he was pretty convinced that they'd dismiss his story. Perhaps it's best this way anyway. They've finally got a happy marriage and I don't want to risk derailing it.

He came to the ultimate realisation that he had to tell Jennifer. After all, he was already planning how he was going to propose - she deserved to know what had happened to the man she loved. The other part of him felt that she shouldn't have to know. If he couldn't handle the memories of what he'd gone through, how did he know she could?

But on their next trip to the lake, Marty decided he couldn't bear it alone any longer; eighteen weeks of insufficient sleep had finally wore him down. She has to know.

When they were tucked up in their sleeping bags under the stars, he swallowed hard and whispered cautiously into the darkness. "Jen?"

Jennifer shifted slightly. "Marty?" When he didn't answer, she rolled over in her sleeping bag, noticing how Marty was avoiding her gaze. "Is everything alright?"

"…I think I have a problem," His voice shook as he whispered, his eyes welling with tears, "and I…I don't know what to do."

Jennifer gazed at Marty with concerned eyes. She gave him a small smile in the darkness, stretching her hand out to cup his cheek and turn his face towards her. "Oh, Marty…I was wondering when you'd finally tell me."

She leaned over to give him a gentle kiss, and Marty allowed the last of his resolve to crumble as he cried. Jennifer pushed herself out of her sleeping bag to wrap her arms around her boyfriend, stroking his hair soothingly as he cried in her embrace. "It'll get better, Marty. It will."

[triscishistrionic]

FUUUuuck I have school tomorrow I'm going to kill myself /not srs

if I only went to school for my one pre law class everyday, and it was at like, 11, and I could be driven there by my parents, I think I would be happy with my life

but no. I have to wake up at SIX IN THE MORNING ride the bus for an hour, sit in a room doing nothing for another hour, fail myself and my teacher in photography for an hour and a half, sit through history notes for an hour and a half, travel across the whole fuckin universe to be tortured in a room with FUCKING bigoted immature writing department kids for an hour (at least my friend is there w me) and do shit I hate, travel BACK across the whole fucking world to go to lunch, and then FINALLY get to the good part of the day in pre law for just 90 minutes then get on a bus for another hour and get home at 4 pm.

I'm doing 10 hour days on top of having bpd and hpd and a CONSTANT need for attention and reassurance from my fp and atps. and lately my fp doesnt have enough time for us to relax together.

(this part is short but also more triggering so I put it under a cut)

and when I get attention from none of them for too long I feel like I cant breathe and I want to tear my hair out and cut and throw up and cry.

how am I NOT supposed to want to kill myself? :')

[helianskies]

Dialogue prompt 14 for romantic engspa please 👀 I’m intrigued to see what you do with this one ❤️

. . . so i went a bit crazy with this one. there's a snippet below, but the full fic is up on ao3 (for the best!) :3c

January 1488

Arthur had been summoned. It was the first time he had been summoned to this land, and no less by a rather mysterious and unexpected letter from someone he had not spoken to in… well, he could not quite remember. 

We do not know each other too well, the writing had said, neat, slanted, carefully thought out, but I fear I am in need of services that only you can provide.

Little detail had been given in the letter about what such services would entail. However, Arthur had also been sent some coin to allow him to travel across the waters that isolated him from the rest of Christendom, so, in the end, it was not entirely a bad excuse to have a break away from home. With the War of the Roses recently ended, he… 

They had met him at the port.

They had welcomed him as amicably as they were able to, told him little, and then ushered him to the carriage that had been provided. It was only to be a ride of about three hours, they told him—his host had not wanted him to have too arduous a journey on this side of the water. Upon arrival, there would be food, he would be provided somewhere to rest, and so on… 

Really, it was only to be a short trip as a whole. Arthur was unsure whether that was meant to reassure him, them, or none of them at all.

Nevertheless, they were not mistaken with their timings. By around six o’clock in the evening, Arthur arrived at a house, stepped out of the carriage, and, at last—

“You got my letter.”

He stood at the main entrance, flanked by a few members of his staff, perhaps, and he graced Arthur with a courteous smile.

“I am glad you were able to come.”

Arthur (who found himself straightening himself up, feeling a bit out of his depth all of a sudden for reasons he could not discern) stepped towards the other personification. “Castile,” he greeted in return with a polite nod, “thank you for asking me here.”

“Come,” the other said, gesturing back towards the countryside house. “You are no doubt in need of some food and rest. Fortunately for you, dinner is almost ready.”

“How kind of you.”

“I believe they call it common courtesy.”

With that, the other patiently waited for Arthur to come along. The bag he had travelled with was to be taken to his room, and in the meantime, the two personifications could have a little talk before sitting down for refreshments.

If Arthur were being honest, this did all feel a bit cloak-and-dagger. A bit too quiet and unusual. But he had travelled all this way, and the other did not have any kind of malintent that Arthur could detect as of yet. Perhaps he was being paranoid. People did like to tell him as much—tell him things like, not everyone wants your head; it isn't yet worth the air they breathe. Yet…

The Castilian (or whatever it was these days he preferred to refer to himself as) guided Arthur through a series of short corridors and turns, until they arrived in a room warmed by reddish wood and dark fabric upholstery. Over a fireplace hung a mirror—Arthur caught his own gaze for a moment and saw his own tiredness—his journey—slowly sinking in—and the other told him to take a seat wherever he liked.

“I hope you have no complaints about wine,” he then said as he headed for a side table, the decanter, and some glasses. “I am afraid that is all I have to offer you, other than water.”

“I… suppose I should not turn the offer down,” Arthur mused, smiling somewhat wryly to himself. “If you have no objections.”

“Before we go too far, perhaps some formalities are wise.”

“Of course.”

“You are, naturally, the Kingdom of England. What is the human name you choose to go by these days?”

“Arthur,” the blond replied without qualm. “Still Arthur.”

“Mmh.” A smile crept onto the other’s face. “How nice to think that some of us will never change.”

It was not difficult to read beneath the words and glimpse an unease, a bitterness—aimed at only one person in that mirror. Arthur could only guess the implications. Though, even if they did not exist, he had been intrigued nonetheless about… whatever changes that the other had or had not gone through. 

(The limited things that Arthur knew about the Peninsula were only thanks to his relationship with Portugal, the neighbour of all these other confusing kingdoms. When he came to mind, actually… Arthur could not help but reach for one of his fingers. He wore a reciprocated gift. Perhaps, while he was over here, he could… make a detour before going home. Portugal would no doubt appreciate it.  Ah— But he was not home at the moment…)

“What about you, then?” Arthur asked his host, as the other found a seat of his own and got comfortable. “What names should I be using for you?”

“Not ‘Castile’, for one,” the other replied before indulging in a sip of wine—perhaps to help him loosen up. “It is complicated. But you can call me Antonio for now. I think that is for the best.”

And yet, Arthur was still intrigued. “You clearly have not changed that much,” he remarked. “‘Antonio’ is going back to your roots, do you not think?”

Antonio straightened his back and chewed on nothing. “That,” he said, “is for the best, too.”

The temptation to ask him why that was so, of course, was a temptation that Arthur had to resist. It did not feel like the right time, judging by the weight of the air around them. Maybe he would have the privilege of knowing for sure eventually. For now, however—

“Very well, Antonio,” the blond said, moving on. “Am I allowed to ask why I am here? Your letter was a little bit… vague on the matter.”

“Yet you still followed it here,” Antonio returned, his smile returning.

“And you were not surprised to see me,” Arthur concurred, albeit, not entirely happily.

“For a simple reason,” the other claimed. 

“Oh?”

“I believed you would come. And so you have.”

[ find the full fic on ao3! ]

[iantimony]

tues

last tuesday in my apartment! going away for ~6 weeks! trying to be normal about it! posting this pretty early in the day compared to normal because i woke up insanely early from my roommate's cat yelling ... then i got bad period cramps and languished in bed with a heating pad for way too long ... did not end up going to my office today, oops ...

listening: like many others i have gotten sucked into the kendrick/drake Beef. i do sporadically listen to hip hop and rap in general but somehow had never gotten around to kendrick. better late than never, i suppose! this is not news but he's really good!! i listened to 'good kid, m.A.A.d city' for the first time and it's just really really good. i cannot recommend a Single Favorite Song the way i sometimes do with albums i like just because this is one of the ones that i let wash over me as an entire cohesive unit. do recommend if you have somehow lived under a rock like me.

reading: mostly fallow. some academic paper stuff. biting my nails about prelim exam things.

watching: dunmeshi and asobi.

playing: ran an insane dnd session saturday for the online weekly group that i got roped into earlier this year ... i'm glad i'm running it, i'm having a lot of fun with it, but my god. we decided to do a 'slightly' longer session than normal because we're not gonna get to play for about a month due to scheduling/travel of various people. it was Six Hours Long. AND THEY COULD HAVE KEPT GOING. killing myself For Real. but actually i do have fun i just. woof. i am excited to have a bit of a break from it. the only tabletop thing i will be doing with that group until like...june 8??? maybe even the week after? is i set up a spindlewheel spreadsheet for me and one of the players! he had to go awol for a few weeks and we're doing a little spindlewheel game as a way to plot out what his character was up to in that period, very fun, will be low-pressure and asynchronous.

making: trying to finish up some pottery stuff before i leave town! carving in crows into this bowl that i will be painting in with black:

handles added to the new cave painting mugs:

and i went to life drawing again for the first time this year! i will not be back at that specific studio til july lol rip but i plan on going to a local place at least once when i'm at home :) 3 min poses, last sketchy one is a 5-minute, and then the hour long!

finally, the bookbinding stuff i did last week and forgor to post! the little one is scraps to test coptic binding, the bigger one behind it is going to be a travel journal for when i'm in the UK for two weeks :)

eating: really really fallow. a lot of eating out and scrounging frozens because i'm leaving town for a while. hoping to cook for my family while i'm at home. i did eat basically an entire jar of grilled olives from trader joes.

misc: i cannot believe how slow this semester went for most of it and then how fast it's been for the end. good god. i leave my apartment in an hour to go get my brother from the airport, we hang for a few days, and then off i go on saturday! fucked up for real! i'm very excited to see my boyfriend and then go abroad though (!!!), less looking forward to feeling like i'm trapped at home again, but maybe this time will be fine (doubt but hopeful). god i need to think about packing, huh. fuckin hell.

[anonymouscomrade]

aC on vacation

so here's a summary of day 1, more later when i feel like getting the photos off my phone

got to a hotel where my brother and his wife are staying because fuck driving several hours when i should be asleep. google maps sends me to a parallel fucking dimension where the hotel was built on the opposite side of the city. also the roads here are somehow iced over when most of the road leading here wasn't so go figure. we try to get dinner and almost everywhere is closed on account of the snow, except for this hole in the wall chinese takeout place, because if you can count on any place to be open, it's one of these. they make the best general tso's chicken i've had in a long time, it turns out

woke up at like four in the morning for our 7:30 am flight, because by airport logic being only two hours early is tantamount to no-showing. this was right after shit got polar so the roads were covered in ice. at the parking place, i tried and failed to get past a barrier before the lever arm came back down again because it was on a slight incline and i couldn't get enough traction to clear it before it closed. this happened like SIX TIMES, it was some Three Stooges shit

our shuttle takes us over to the airport. i stick to my brother like a little kid to his mom because he's done this before and i have not. the flight is going to be five hours. which doesn't make sense to me because the return flight is only supposed to be three and a half. i dunno, maybe headwinds or something? i'm not a fucking pilot. i'm anxious to get this part over with because, again, never flown before. after waiting for clearance for what feels like forever (justified, on account of ice) we're finally in the air. it's... nothing? it's kind of mundane and somehow boring. one of the greatest achievements in human history and the only difference between this and being on a bus packed full of strangers is there's no road to rumble against that eventually numbs your butt, and also it's several degrees of magnitude faster than a bus i suppose

we arrive at LAX and if i didn't already feel like a fish out of water then oh boy. how the fuck do people live like this? how do you figure out who's supposed to go where? it's like living in the Kowloon Walled City, thought the guy who grew up imagining anywhere big enough to have a walmart counted as a "big city"

we get another shuttle, this one absolutely cramped with people, to get to the rental car place. my brother argues with the guy (who isn't even actually *physically* there, he's somehow doing sales over Zoom or some shit) for like half an hour before telling him to cancel the whole thing. turns out they wanted close to four times what he was originally quoted and weren't budging. we decide to get an uber to the closest In-n-Out, because we're in California, and also starving, so why not. we're standing in line looking a bunch of huge dorks carrying around suitcases. if i was ever going to be mugged in broad daylight it would be right here, right now. i order a double double combo, swap out the tomato for onions because raw tomato has all the texture and flavor of a balloon filled with wet sand, and onions and cheeseburgers go together like chocolate and peanut butter. the burger's okay, i guess. the fries are the most boring fries i've ever eaten. at least it's probably the cheapest meal i'll have while i'm here

we take another uber to get to our airbnb, about 45 minutes out. every other billboard is this guy

we arrive and immediately notice something is wrong. it was advertised as 4 bed. there are TWO double beds. this is pretty good if you're two married couples and not so much if you're the double third wheel travelling with two married couples. there's one room with a folding leather futon and not much else that seems kind of pointless and i decide this is where i'll stay. turns out that futon is the least comfortable sleeping surface ever manufactured in human history and there are maybe three exact positions that are even kind of comfortable enough to fall asleep in while lying on it and not having an iron bar press up into your lower back or your shoulderblade or the back of your neck

END OF DAY 1

[quaranmine]

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Five)

Grian and Scar start to piece together where Mumbo traveled, and Grian tries to get Scar to acknowledge the part he played in this.

Chapter Five: 5,626 words

<< Chapter Four | Masterpost | Chapter Six >>

hii! it's been over a month, whoops. This chapter was officially split due to being over 14k words, so y'all will get the second half (now chapter six) very soon. CW: more of the same vibes as previous chapters, but with one line implying suicidal idea which i really did not intend to have but it slotted into the conversation so perfectly-

June 1989

“Grian, are you awake?”

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were awake?”

“Scar, I answered your call,” Grian says with a huff of amusement. “I’d have to be awake to do that, wouldn’t I?”

“Oh. I guess that’s true,” Scar says. “Silly me!” 

“Why did you ask?” Grian says. 

“‘Cause your tower’s dark.”

“What, are you spying on me at night now?”

“No!” Scar says. “I mean, what else am I supposed to do out here? Your tower is like a beacon in the night and right now it’s out! What’s a man to do but wonder if you’re abandoning me?”

“How about going to sleep?” Grian suggests.

“You’re such a buzzkill,” Scar says. “It isn’t that late. Wait, were you going to sleep? Like actually? Did I wake you up?”

“No,” Grian says, and frankly he wasn’t anticipating sleeping well tonight anyway. “I’m just…not in the tower right now.”

It’s been three hours since the sun dipped below the mountains, and the sky is dark. But the moon is closer to full than it is new, and its light shines weakly down on the ground, creating faint shadows. The stars are out in full force, fighting for dominance against the moon. They’d be more visible if it was darker, but hundreds of them are still scattered in the sky. 

Grian can almost hear the wheels in Scar’s brain spinning over the silence on the radio waves. “Where are you?” he asks. “If you aren’t in your tower?”

He’s laying on his back in a meadow just off the trail, listening to the way the grass whispers in the wind. His tent is set up behind him, but the temperature tonight is so nice that he almost doesn’t want to climb in it. He’d normally string the rest of things high up on a tree branch, but the spot he’s in tonight has a cache box nearby so he’s utilizing that. He has no campfire–having a fire is technically allowed right now, as long as it’s closely monitored and thoroughly extinguished when you’re done. But as the fire season progresses, everyone anticipates that a burn ban will be put into place soon. 

Grian, for his part, just doesn’t want to smell the smoke. 

He opens his mouth to respond to Scar, but closes it again, feeling a bit of heat creep up his cheeks. It’s hard. It’s so hard. It doesn’t matter how often he does it, it never feels like it gets easier to share things with people. Especially things that make him feel so vulnerable. 

Vulnerable, like laying in a meadow at night in the wilderness stargazing. 

“I’m by the Pinnacles Trail,” he says finally. “Camped out.”

“You’re at the Pinin–Pinina–wow that’s a hard word–Pininacles Trail?”

“Pinnacles,” Grian says. 

“Pininacles,” Scar repeats. 

“No, it’s–” Grian laughs. “Nevermind. I’m there.”

“Why?”

“I think you know why.”

“Well, I thought maybe you’d say it,” Scar says. “Are you in the spot?”

“No, I’m just–I’m just near the junction with Wapiti. There’s that spot in the meadow to camp.”

“That’s a pretty area.”

“Yeah, it is,” Grian says softly. “I haven’t found–I didn’t walk up the trail enough to see where they found his bike. But I guess I just wanted to be out here. Don’t worry, I only have to be back in my tower by at least nine to do the morning report, I can be up and out of here early this morning.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Scar says. 

“Well, maybe I was.”

This job is a means to an end. Grian never woke up as a child hoping he’d become a fire lookout one day–he hadn’t even known the job existed until a few months ago. He also hadn’t been thrilled to realize just how far out in the middle of nowhere it would be either, until he realized how significantly it lessened the prospect of people bothering him. 

But he can’t help but feel a deep fondness for it already. This job is a means to an end, but it’s a means that is worth doing right. He doesn’t want his life to be such a string of failures and screw ups and unreliability anymore, he wants to succeed at something. 

“I was meaning to ask,” Scar says, “but what trail was Mumbo planning to hike? Where were you searching before?”

“It was the Cloud Lake trail,” Grian says. “He saw a picture of it in a mountain biking magazine a few months back and had been wanting to go for a while.”

“That’s a good trail,” Scar says. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on it.”

“You haven’t? Not in…how long? Eight years, you said?”

“I mostly keep to my region,” Scar says. “I’m not much for hikes that are too long, it’ll wipe me out for the rest of the week.”

“Oh,” Grian says, suddenly remembering what Scar had told him. “That makes sense.” 

“So Mumbo was supposed to be on the Cloud Lake trail,” Scar says.

“But his bike was found on Pinnacles.”

“And his bike was found on Pinnacles…”

“I looked at the maps,” Grian says. “There’s a backcountry site marked here off this trail, it says it’s site #52. But he might not have been camping at one of the designated sites, so I’ll just have to search the whole trail.” 

“Do you think he was camping there?”

“He had to camp somewhere,” Grian says. “I don’t see why he would have left his bike there otherwise. Unless someone stole it. Unless he crashed it. Unless someone else put it there.”

Unless, unless, unless. Unknowns stalk him at every turn. 

Were these the same stars Mumbo looked at too?

Grian stares up at the sky. He can see the milky way, bright like a slash across the sky. The details of the thousands of stars are a little lost amidst the light from the moon, but it’s breathtaking just the same. It’s more stars than he could ever see from Denver, or his home in England. There isn’t a single light around for miles to spoil it; even Scar’s lookout is hidden away behind the folds of the mountains between them. 

Were these the same stars Mumbo looked at too, when he was here?

Well, that’s a silly question, he supposes. Of course they are the same. They’re always the same, across countries and continents and lifetimes.

“There’s so many stars out here,” Grian says softly. “It still takes me by surprise every night.”

“It’s my favorite thing about working here,” Scar says. “One of the reasons I come back year after year.” 

“I remember reading once,” Grian starts, “that some of the stars we see now are already dead. They’re just so far away from us that we’re only just now seeing their light. It’s weird. I can’t tell which ones I’m looking at are dead or alive.” He pauses, letting the cool night air play over him for a moment. “Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe they’ll keep shining my whole lifetime. Maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“That’s sort of poetic,” Scar says. “And just a little morbid.”

“I do my best.”

“I like to think there’s a star for everyone we’ve ever lost,” he says. “Isn’t that nicer?”

“Scar, I think that’s almost worse. There’s thousands of them, that’s so sad!”

“Nuh-uh,” Scar says. “Just specific ones. Like that one.”

“Which one?”

“That one, I’m pointing at it.”

“You know I can’t see you,” Grian says, with a hint of a laugh.  

“Yeah, but I made you smile,” Scar says, sounding pleased with himself. “Just use your imagination.”

“I’ve done plenty of that,” he says. Mostly of the negative kind. It’s amazing what his brain can come up with on a day to day basis, all the awful scenarios it makes up to torture him. 

He bites his lip, unsure if he wants to proceed. Scar’s on the line right now. Grian talks too much to him. He knows too much about Grian now. But Scar is also nice. He is kind. He is helpful. 

After a moment, Grian takes the plunge and asks, “Do you know what freaks me out most about all this?”

Maybe he’ll regret this. Maybe he won’t. 

“What?”

“That he’s been alone this whole time.”

He’s alone, alone, alone. Nobody was with him. Nobody was there for him. Alone, alone, alone. 

It’s a weight on his chest, breaking him open and crushing his ribs whenever he thinks too hard about it. Every breath hurts. He closes his eyes against the starlight, feeling the bite of the cool night air against his nose. There is nothing else. 

Grian told him to go alone. He told him to go alone. He said it’d be okay. 

Doesn’t that make it his fault, then?

If he had just gone with him, would this have happened at all? 

Did Mumbo get in trouble because there was nobody to back him up? 

Did he look over his shoulder for someone to grasp onto, only to find nobody there? 

Did he cry for help, with nobody around to hear him?

If they’d delayed the trip another few weeks, would this have even happened at all? 

What if he had quit his job back then and gone with Mumbo, saying to hell with it with his clients, instead of hanging onto it for months? 

What if he had told Mumbo to leave a day earlier or later for his trip–would he have still run into trouble? 

What if he had encouraged Mumbo to go somewhere closer to home? 

What if he had reported Mumbo missing just a few hours earlier?

If Grian had been there, at least they would’ve faced whatever happened together instead of apart. But he wasn’t there. Mumbo was alone then and he’s alone now. 

“I’m sorry,” Scar says. “That’s difficult.” 

Scar, with all his apologizing yet again. Grian doesn’t need someone to soothe him, he needs someone to look at the truth for once and assign him part of this blame. Mumbo going missing has left Grian all alone out here too, but Grian is alone with a purpose and he needs to be alone. He deserves it. 

“I made him come out here, you know,” Grian says softly. “He wanted to go with me but I had to work. I told him it’d be fine if he went on his own, ‘cause I knew he–I knew he really wanted to go. Which means it’s my fault, Scar.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Scar says automatically. He says it in the way all of us are trained to do when someone says something like that; it’s the instinctive manner of polite and kind people, but not a phrase that indicates Scar actually heard what Grian was trying to say. 

“Isn’t it?” Grian says, demanding attention. “I think he would’ve just stayed if I didn’t tell him to go ahead with it. I talked him into it. And not a day goes by that I don’t regret it. I was being selfish, I just wanted to keep my client, but I should have kept my friend.”

“Selfish?” Scar says. “You said he really wanted to go, so you encouraged him to. It sounds like you just wanted him to be happy.”

“You don’t know anything about this,” Grian snaps. “You don’t know anything about the situation, you don’t know anything about me, and you don’t know anything about Mumbo. Of course I wanted him to be happy! But he wanted to go with me, not alone. I made him go alone.”

“I only know what you tell me.” 

“And I’m telling you it’s my fault.”

“Grian, I just don’t think that’s true,” Scar says, and there’s a touch of exasperation in his voice. “Did you plan for something terrible to happen? Did you arrange for him to go missing?”

“Of course not,” Grian mutters. 

“Then how is it your fault?”

“Because I should have been with him!” Grian says. “None of this would have happened if I went with him.”

“We don’t know what happened to him. How do you know that whatever it was couldn’t have happened to both of you?” Scar asks. “Then you’d have both just been in trouble.”

“Then we would have been in trouble together,” Grian says. “He just–he wouldn’t have been alone, Scar. Alone. I don’t…I don’t think I can take that Scar, he’s alone and he didn’t even have to be.”

There’s an extended pause on the other side of the line. “Bad things happen, G,” Scar says after a while. “You can’t predict them or prevent them. Of course it’s awful that he’s alone, but you didn’t do that. You didn’t know something would happen. It can’t be your fault if you didn’t know.”

“I should have known.”

“What, are you psychic now?” Scar says. “Could you predict the future? Tell me when every little bad thing is gonna happen? ‘Cause if so, we could make a great team. Do you know how much money we could make off of that in the off-season? We wouldn’t even be scamming people if you were legit!”

Grian rolls his eyes. He doesn’t even want to deign Scar with a reply, but something in his brain has been spinning faster and faster this whole time. He’s riled up. Scar just can’t see what Grian means. He’s too stupidly kind to him, and he can’t see the way Grian’s responsible for this whole mess to start with. Grian wants him to see. Even if he has to make him. 

“I’m not psychic,” he snaps, as if it’s actually a serious accusation he needs to defend himself against. “It’s just common sense. I shouldn’t have made him go alone. He’s in trouble and I’m the reason he’s out here.”

“Oh, you’re not psychic? What a tragedy, I guess you can’t see the future after all. I guess you can’t predict when every bad thing is going to happen. Welcome to the club that the rest of the world lives in, it sucks to be here.”

“Yeah, it does suck! Because I should have known better.”

“How many times are you going to say that?” Scar asks. “Because it’s getting a little old, man. Mumbo made a choice to come out here too, you know. You can’t take him out of this. He made these decisions. Maybe you suggested he could go alone, but he took your suggestion.”

Grian is seething. “Don’t you dare blame him in this situation. This was not his fault.”

Scar sighs. “G, I’m not saying it was his fault. I’m just saying that it wasn’t yours, either. Sometimes bad things just happen, it’s what I’ve been sayin’ all along!”

“You don’t get it, Scar,” Grian says. “Of course you don’t get it. It’s my fault because I had the power to make a decision that could have made this all turn out differently. We’re in this situation in the first place because of a decision I made.”

Scar is silent for a long time, and Grian feels vindictively happy about that. It feels like he won, maybe not the whole argument, but at least just an inch. Does Scar finally see what Grian means? Does he know? Because Grian needs him to know, needs Scar to adjust his views of him accordingly, needs people to stop treating him like glass. 

After a minute, Scar says softly, “What do you mean I don’t get it?”

“I’m guilty, Scar. I deserve this. Mumbo doesn’t. I abandoned him and now he’s gone. It’s my fault.”

“You’ll drive yourself into the ground thinking like this,” Scar says, voice a little firmer. “Do you see what you’re doing right now? You’ll kill yourself with this mindset.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Please,” Scar says weakly. “Please, Grian.”

Grian blazes onward, ignoring Scar. It hurts, but it should hurt. It should hurt Grian. Facing this head on should feel like a firecracker in his chest, a lit match, a short fuse, a shattered glass. He doesn’t let Scar speak anymore, taking advantage of Scar’s ever so slight hesitancy on the line to keep talking.

“Do you know what I had to do, the day after it all happened?” he says. “It nearly broke me. Because it isn’t just me or Mumbo I hurt, it was everyone.”

He pauses a moment to catch his breath. He holds the radio call button down so Scar can’t interrupt. The silence in the meadow tonight is oppressive. Grian wishes there was something else, anything else, but there just isn’t. 

“I had to be the one to tell his mum when he went missing,” he continues. “I had to phone her when I got to that old motel in Cody, and I had to tell her that her son was missing, and I had to sit there on the line and listen to her cry.”

He remembers looking at the clock and doing the familiar mental math to remember what time it was in England. It was dinnertime. He’ll ruin the whole evening but he shouldn’t wait to call, he doesn’t want it to be too late. 

He remembers his hands shaking when he dialed the phone, and how he’d misdialed it the first time and had to hang up. He remembers how Mumbo’s mum had picked up the phone cheerfully, only to be immediately apprehensive when she heard Grian speak. International calls were expensive–Mumbo called his parents with regularity, but receiving an unscheduled call from Grian was already a bit of a red flag. 

They’d flown down from England immediately afterward to be part of the search proceedings. Three weeks later, they forced themselves to fly back home. The searches had wound down, and there was nothing to be done anymore. They had things they needed to attend to back home. Grian called Mumbo’s mum every week, then every other week, and then maybe once a month with updates. There was rarely anything to say, and she worried constantly over him.  

His parents had never blamed Grian. In fact, his mum had wrapped him in a hug the moment she saw him, and asked if he was doing okay. 

They didn’t blame him, but that’s fine. They don’t have to. Grian blamed himself enough to share. 

“When we moved to America, she was worried, right?” he continues. “It’s all the way across the world. But she felt better because we were going together. When we left she told me to take care of him. Scar, I failed at that. I failed.”

He releases his death grip on the call button. The line is free. 

“Oh, Grian,” Scar says. Just that. Nothing more. 

The sympathy drips from his words, and Grian tightens his mouth into a line. It’s what he expected. There’s an exhilarating feeling of look, now you finally understand, but it’s fleeting and gone just as quick as it arrived. It leaves emptiness behind. 

“Don’t apologize to me. A sorry won’t fix this. I need to fix this.”

“I wasn’t going to, I just–” Scar halts, and gathers his thoughts for a moment. Grian lets him. “This is awful. It shouldn’t have happened, you’re right. But I just don’t think you failed, Grian. I think you tried. I think you are trying. Very hard.”

It takes him entirely by surprise, but Grian’s eyes are suddenly wet, and he tries to rapidly blink away the tears that have formed. The stars blur into a smear of light. Grian draws a ragged breath. He is trying, alright? He is. He’s trying. 

“It’s not enough though, is it?” he says, and his voice cracks. “It’s never enough.”

Scar smiles on the other end of the line. It’s a sad smile. Grian can’t see it, of course, but he knows it to be true just the same. “It still matters,” Scar says. “It still matters.”

»»———-　　———-««

It’s late afternoon, and the lookout is hot. The summer up until now has been mostly cool and pleasant, so Grian can’t find it in himself to be that annoyed by the warmth. He’s opened up a few windows to try and get a breeze running through the cabin. 

He’s dreadfully bored, and a little sleepy from waking up early in the morning to hike back to his tower. He’s just waiting for the day to end, truthfully. He gets off work in about an hour.

Of course, he also lives at work. And his work is pretty easy too, on days like these. All he has to do is intermittently look out the windows and pay attention to his surroundings. And even after he’s off work, he’s still expected to call in something if he sees it, so…there’s a little less appeal to getting off work than in most jobs. There’s little change from hour to hour in his life. Does the work day ever end if you’re in it all the time? 

Lately he’s been keeping an eye on the Trout Fire. They’ve been allowing it to burn for some time now, just watching it. Apparently, the decision to suppress it or not was a hotly debated one–the extensive (and expensive) fires of last year had put everyone on edge. The public was against fires. Congress was interested in debating fires. The Forest Service was torn, because suppressing fires only left dry tinder for a worse fire further down the line, but letting one burn after the disaster of the year prior just looked plain incompetent. Someone called for an entire policy review. 

Honestly, who looks at a fire and just doesn’t do anything about it? That’s literally part of the Forest Service’s job–it’s actually written into the creation of the agency that one of its most important jobs is the prevention of and protection from wildfire. It doesn’t matter if science supports the benefits of letting fires burn, because the public and the politicians will just take an emotional stance to begin with. It’s difficult to watch 36% of America’s most beloved park burn to the ground and still support fire. 

Grian, of course, is entirely removed from these arguments. The people making those decisions–and the ones arguing back about the decisions–are probably sitting in an office somewhere. He’s just being paid a few dollars above minimum wage to watch it for a while. 

The ultimate decision was to let it burn with heavy monitoring, which was basically the same as last year's policy anyway. The Trout Fire was a natural wildfire, set by lightning at the beginning of June. Therefore, it is a fire that would have happened in the absence of human monitoring. An inevitable one, to put it another way. 

Any human-caused fires were to be suppressed immediately. The Trout Fire would be suppressed too if it got out of hand–whatever that was taken to mean. Grian had started keeping a log of every helicopter that flew by it now and then, just to have something to do. 

It burns idly in the distance, leaving a trail of smoke in the air that bisects the blue sky. It isn’t much of an inferno, and some recent showers in the past week have kept the area just damp enough to consistently smolder but not damp enough to put it out. Grian likes to watch the smoke blow away, seeing how it twists and warps and changes once it’s in the air. 

Scar has been quiet all day, which isn’t really like him. Grian decides to call him, because he frankly doesn’t have anything better to do. 

He also feels just the slightest bit guilty about the night before. Has Scar been avoiding him today? Did he upset Scar? It’s okay if Scar doesn’t want to talk with him anymore after listening to how it’s Grian’s fault Mumbo went missing. He tells himself that it’s okay, because that’s what he wanted: for anyone at all to recognize the blame he sees in himself. If Scar listened to all that and decided Grian wasn’t someone he wanted to talk to, then that’s fine. 

But it isn’t okay if Grian has been the one to hurt Scar, because he never intended that at all. 

He can’t tell what’s wrong, though, and he’d be damned if he outright asked, so instead he just tries to start a friendly conversation. 

“Scar, are you there?” he says. “This day has been stretching forever. I didn’t even get to see a helicopter fly by the Trout Fire, it’s like they’re trying to make me more bored! And don’t get me started on the books that somebody left in this tower, I tried to read like four of them but only one was any good.”

A minute later, Scar pops up on the line, sounding just a bit frazzled. “G-man! Hi! They weren’t doing any monitoring flights this week, not if we don’t report any changes. The smoke jumpers reported that earlier on the main channel.”

“Uh, hi there,” Grian says. “I guess that answers why I didn’t see any helicopters this morning. I guess I missed that report, I’m always on this channel instead.”

“Well, that’s what you’ve got me for!” Scar says. “I’ve got radios, telephones, notebooks…there might be more wires around this building than there are planks of wood. Hey, how are you this fine, fine afternoon? I was just about to call you!”

Grian raises an eyebrow. “I’m good,” he says. In general, it’s not the outright truth, but in this moment it’s not a lie either. “You, uh, seem a little…interesting this afternoon.”

“Oh, I’m doing just fine! I’m just, just…” Scar trails off. Grian hears some interference on the line, like Scar is perhaps moving an object or flipping through papers.  “Losing my train of thought, I guess. “Are you busy?”

“Um, no,” Grian says. “I just told you I was bored. I called you about that?”

“Right,” Scar says. “Right. That’s good.”

“Scar, what’s up?” Grian asks. 

“Oh, you know, I was just looking at some things,” Scar says. He’s talking quickly. “Hey, you said Mumbo was supposed to take the Cloud Lake Trail, right? That’s what you said yesterday, right?”

Grian’s bemusement quickly flips to something colder. “Uh, yeah,” he replies. “That was what he told me.”

“Cool…” Scar says. 

Grian stands up from his desk where he had been leisurely watching the smoke from the Trout Fire earlier. He paces a few times back and forth, before asking, “Hey? What’s going on? Why did you ask?”

“I was thinking about what you said last night…not everything you said, ’cause most of it was stupid, but when you told me what trail Mumbo was supposed to be on, it just seemed weird to me. I couldn’t remember why, though.” Scar takes a breath. “So I just started looking through my notes and stuff this afternoon.”

Something coils in the pit of Grian’s stomach. He’s not sure he likes where this train of thought is going. It’s a depressingly common feeling. “And?”

“I found some of my notes I took last year. Grian, Cloud Lake Trail was closed.”

“What?” Grian says. “No, I know what you’re talking about. They–they closed it off because the Mink Creek fire was getting too close to that section of the park. That’s why they sent me home early on the search, civilians weren’t allowed to be there anymore.”

“No, I remember that,” Scar says. “It was out of my district, but the smoke was everywhere. All of the lookouts in Shoshone were on high alert all summer. We were praying those fires stayed over in Yellowstone.”

He hesitates, just a moment. “I remember when they closed that part of the park,” he says. “But Cloud Lake was closed before that. They never reopened it from the winter season.”

“No, that doesn’t make sense,” Grian says. “He definitely was going there.”

“Was he?” Scar asks. “Because his bike was found at Pinnacles.”

“I know what he told me,” Grian says, defensively. “I didn’t forget where he said he was going. I literally wrote down the name of the trail before he left, just in case!”

“No, I believe you. That probably was his plan. ‘Cause you said he saw it in a magazine, right? He wanted to go there. I’m just…” Scar trails off. 

“What?” Grian asks. “You’re what?”

“I’m confused.”

“Well, so am I,” Grian snaps. “Why would it be closed? I mean, we literally searched there. I walked the trail, it was fine.”

“I didn’t write down a lot of details,” Scar says. “It was just from one of the briefings at the beginning of the season in the spring. I try to write stuff like that down, it isn’t in my district, but maybe some hiker will come and ask me about it, right?”

“Scar, what did it say.”

“I don’t know! It was messed up somehow–either an avalanche or rockslide or just flooding from the creek. When they scouted the trail in the spring they said it needed to be partially rebuilt.”

His mind is spinning. The trail needed to be rebuilt? The list Scar gave him covered so many different types of damage that he doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“What, you couldn’t walk on it? He couldn’t ride a bike down it? What does that mean?”

“I mean–the whole trail probably wasn’t affected!” Scar says. “But, you know, parts of it were messed up. The Forest Service doesn’t let people go on trails like that, it’s unsafe. Like, just in general but also as a government liability thing I’m sure.”

“Clearly!” Grian cries. “And what, Mumbo was just allowed to go on it? Allowed to go on this trail that’s closed to the public?”

“I don’t know,” Scar says. “He shouldn’t have been allowed! What if he just went anyway? Ignored the sign?”

“Mumbo did everything right,” Grian says, voice firm. “He wouldn’t have done something like that. If he saw it was closed, he wouldn’t have gone.”

“Are you sure? Because you said he really wanted to go.”

“I know my friend.” Knew him so well he couldn’t even find him. “You don’t.”

“No, I’m–I’m sorry,” Scar says. “You’re right, I don’t know him. I just want to make sure we’re covering all the possibilities, you know.”

Grian sighs. “If it was actually closed like you said, wouldn’t the road be like, blocked off or something? I’ve seen you people close the gate on roads before.”

“Normally, yeah,” Scar says. “But there’s multiple trailheads on this road, and not all of them were closed, so I don’t think they’d close the whole road. They probably just put a sign up at Cloud Lake in the parking lot.”

There’s something tickling the back of Grian’s brain. A little detail that slots in here somewhere, nearly but not forgotten. “Wait,” he says. “Didn’t someone literally say they saw him? Like, after the search started someone came to the office and made a report that they had seen him in the area. I guess that mustache was pretty distinctive.”

“There was a witness?” Scar says. 

“I mean–yeah, I think so?” Grian says. “They said they saw him and the description checked out. His car was over there too, Scar, how did he get anywhere else if his car was left on that road?”

Scar is silent for a bit. “Did he take another one of those trails off of that road, maybe?”

“Do any of those connect with Pinnacles?”

“Uh…not officially, I don’t think. Some of them go in the wrong direction.”

Yeah, and that’s why they didn’t focus any manpower on the area of those other trails, other than an aerial search. It’s possible that Mumbo had taken the wrong trail, but with a witness who saw him in that area and his car left at Cloud Lake, his plans pointing to Cloud Lake, they’d deemed it more likely he had taken the right trail afterall. Except that trail was apparently closed, and Mumbo’s things were found miles away–and not even on one of the other trails off that road. 

Grian really wants to lie down, pull a blanket over his head, and let the thoughts just spin around in his head endlessly. 

“Hey, what was his permit for?” Scar asks. 

“His permit?” Grian says. 

“His backcountry permit,” Scar says. “You have to have one to camp out here, it’s how they keep up with who is who and where they are and how they are coming and going. What was he permitted for?”

“I don’t think I have his permit,” Grian says. “I don’t think I ever saw that. I just knew he was taking that trail and the rangers seemed to agree? And there was that witness report. Scar, are you sure the trail was closed?”

“I have it in my notes,” Scar says.

“Are your notes any good?” He means the question to come out as bitter as he feels, but instead it just makes him sound tired and desperate. Grian has known Scar for several weeks now. He’s exceptionally friendly, but Grian would be lying if he didn’t seem to have a smidge of scatterbrained tendencies. 

“Listen, G-man, I…” Scar trails off. “I think so. I remember it. I wrote it down.” 

Left unspoken is: Do you trust me?

The worst part is, Grian isn’t sure if he does, even after letting Scar into all of his plans. 

“Is just writing it down enough?” Grian asks. 

There’s a long pause on the line.

“It isn’t,” Scar says finally. “But I’m pretty sure. I’ll double check it to see if the trail was actually closed like I remember. And I will get you his backcountry permit, Grian, I will.”

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